The Inconvenience
by RaisingAmara
Summary: Sam was thirteen the year his father fell in love for the second time. Leslie was smart, attractive and a perfect match for the elder Winchester. She loved classic rock, old muscle cars and guns. The only affinity they didn't share was Sam. Leslie disliked inconveniences who took up too much of their father's time. Luckily for her, she had ways of removing them.
1. Chapter 1

They never talked much about 1996, though it was a year filled with noteworthy events; Endeavor 10 went into space that year. The flip phone debuted, and Garth Brooks became a phenomenal force in music. There was a record-breaking blizzard in the East that winter, but luckily John Winchester and his two teenage sons were holed up in Anaheim where they missed it.

Sam was 13 - Dean 17 - in 1996. It was a year just like any other, except that Dean had a close call that January when a shapeshifter pitched him off a rooftop on South Street. For a while, John thought he'd lost his oldest son, and indeed, Dean's rehabilitation from his injuries was slow and often tedious.

But aside from this, 1996 would have been just another year in the life of the Winchester family. Rougher, maybe, and a bit more of a challenge, but not too far off this side of normal.

Except that it wasn't.

Instead, ruffled by his son's close call with death, John Winchester decided, in 1996, to turn over a new leaf, rent a nice house, and take a day job at a nearby gun shop. He installed Sam in the local school while Dean continued to heal from his massive and debilitating injuries.

And in April of that year, John met Leslie Benigan. She was a gun enthusiast who frequented the shop John managed regularly, and in the beginning, she made him laugh.

Leslie was tall and slight with darling red hair that had never seen a bottle of dye. She kept it clipped in a stylish bob that matched the rest of her elegant appearance. The woman was two years younger than John, liked the same kind of music, and loved guns and classic cars. She worked as a freelance writer for several small, local publications - covering mostly topics about guns and hunting. And she was head-over-heels for the gruff gun seller with the two teenage boys.

Once John realized he felt the same way, he introduced Leslie to Dean and Sam, and two of the three hit it off amazingly well. Dean and Leslie bonded instantly over weapons and hunting techniques, cars and music.

Sadly, the relationship between Sam and his father's girlfriend wasn't as immediate. By all appearances, Leslie tried hard to bond with the youngest boy while Sam resisted every attempt. After that first week, he was moody around her, withdrawn, and tried hard to avoid spending any time alone with the woman who'd managed to capture his father's heart.

And the more Sam resisted, the more stressed John's relationship with his youngest became. John wanted his own happiness, that much was true. But more importantly, he wanted a normal life for his boys.

He thought Leslie could give them that if Sam would just allow it.

What he didn't realize was that the woman with whom he'd fallen in love had once had a thirteen-year-old son, and she hadn't liked him any better than she liked Sam. She found children that age to be awkward, clumsy and entirely too needy, which was how her own son, Nicholas, had ended up a ward of the state a week before his fourteenth birthday. She saw Sam as an inconvenience - an obstacle to be removed so that her life could continue on, unaffected.

When John and Dean were present, Leslie was the perfect stepmother-to-be, cooking for Sam and offering to help with his school projects. When the two were alone, she went out of her way to be … less nice.

They didn't talk much about 1996, because both John and Dean were wracked with guilt about what happened that year.

It was the worst year of Sam's life, and the youngest Winchester nearly didn't survive it.


	2. Clumsy

Sam sat on the concrete step, fidgeting in the encroaching darkness. It was May 1st, and spring had already jumped forward. The darkening of the sky told him it was late - later than it should have been. Dean's PT appointment had been for 4:30. It had to be approaching 8:30, and Dean and Dad still weren't back.

Sam fiddled with the bandage on his throbbing toe and tried not to worry.

It was chilly for May, no more than 40 degrees out this time of evening. Sam was cold, but hurting too much to bother retrieving his jacket. Leslie was inside the house, putting together a nice, family dinner. Sam could have helped, probably would have helped, but his toe was killing him.

Plus, he was worried about Dean. PT never took this long.

Through the window, Sam could hear his father's girlfriend singing softly, and he felt a niggle of guilt. He wished he felt more comfortable around her. Ever since she and John had begun dating, John was a changed man; he smiled more, was more relaxed, and was just genuinely fun to be around. It was such a change from the tense, terse hunter that Sam had grown up with that he almost didn't recognize him. There was no doubt - Leslie was good for Dad. She was good for Dean too, knowing everything there was to know about firearms. The two often sat for hours at the kitchen table, lost in a competition to see who could field-strip a weapon the fastest.

Even Dean laughed more now that Leslie was around.

Sam just wished he could find a way to bond with her. It's not like he hadn't searched for things they had in common. He really had. When Sam found out she was a writer, he'd asked to see some of the articles she'd written, being genuinely interested. But Leslie had taken that as a challenge of her writing abilities and had turned hurt and introspective. Dad had given Sam a dark look then, and led Leslie into the living room where it had taken him an hour to cheer her back up.

Sam never mentioned her writing again.

And Sam was way too polite to ever comment on it, but the woman was clumsy. Every time he turned around, she was falling into him with a hot pan, or opening a door into his forehead. He had a burn on his arm and a bruise on his head to attest to her mishaps. In fact, the smashed toe he was favoring at the moment had happened just minutes ago when she'd asked him to help her move the china cabinet six inches to the left and then lost her grip on it. The whole thing had crashed down on Sam's toe, and it had taken them both too long to get it off.

Leslie had apologized profusely and set about bandaging his toe, but she sure wasn't gentle like Dean was when he took care of Sam's injuries. In fact, Sam was pretty sure that in this case, the cure was worse than the cause. His whole leg was throbbing when Leslie was done twisting his toe left and right to get the gauze around it, but at least the bandage was on now.

Sam swiped resolutely at his watering eyes and waited for the pain medication to kick in.


	3. Suspicions

Dean held the large cake carefully in two hands, taking care not to let it slide around inside the box. It was a genuine bakery cake - Sam's first one ever - and the older boy was determined it would still be in pristine condition when they got it home.

"Sam's gonna be worried." Dean mentioned. "We were due back hours ago."

John smiled, "He's got Leslie now to look after him, Dean. Your brother will be fine."

But Dean wasn't so sure. He had reservations about his little brother and Leslie. And as much as he liked Dad's new friend, Sammy came first. "You think Sam will ever warm up to her?" He asked carefully, not wanting to upset any apple carts.

But John was not the tense, quick-to-snap man he used to be. He glanced over at his son and smiled. "He will. It just takes some getting used to, you know? Sam's had us both all to himself all his life. Learning to share might take some time. Plus, he's at that awkward age where everything feels like a personal problem."

Dean stared out the window. "He sure is clumsy these days."

"Isn't he though? I thought I was the only one who'd noticed."

Dean shook his head, "No. He's got marks and bruises all over. I got a quick glimpse the other night when he got out of the shower. It's not like him."

John sighed, "Still trying to grow into those long legs, I guess."

"You think someone could be hassling him at that new school?"

"I think if someone was, you'd be the one he'd tell. He said anything like that?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't remember being like that at thirteen. Was I clumsy and falling all over myself?"

John snorted, "Dean, you were composed coming down the birth canal. Your brother isn't like you. Never has been. Comparing the two of you is like switching out shotgun shells for bullets. When Sam's ready to talk, he'll talk. Til then, leave him alone and let him deal with whatever it is. Anyway, I think I was a witness to at least half of those marks he's got. He and Leslie seem to have this magnetic pull that puts them both together at the wrong time. I swear if the kid walks into one more door trying to sidestep …" the older man chuckled.

Dean frowned. "I know. They had a collision in the kitchen just last night. Leslie had a hot skillet and Sam had a bare arm." He winced. "I know that one hurt."

"Maybe we should send him out for tap dancing or something. Get the kid some rhythm." John joked, chuckling. "Sure couldn't hurt.

But Dean had moved on, "He's gonna be surprised with the cake and all. This is cool, Dad. I'm glad you got Sam a real cake."

"Well, you only turn thirteen once, right? Might as well do it right. Did you get him anything?"

"Yeah, this boxed set of books he's been wanting."

John nodded.

"How about you? You and Leslie get him anything?"

John nodded, smiling. "You won't believe it."

"What?"

But John wasn't sharing. "Wait and see. It was Leslie's idea." The two exchanged grins of simplicity. But both those grins faded when the Impala pulled up to the front porch and highlighted a worried Sam in its headlights.

"It's a wonder he's not pacing." Dean said, unfolding stiff muscles from the passenger seat, cake in hand. He limped toward the porch, and when Sam didn't meet him halfway, Dean knew something wasn't cool.

"What's up, little bro?" He said, smiling down at the younger boy.

"Where you been, Dean? I was worried." Sam frowned.

Dean shrugged, "Had some things to do in town."

"You hurting? How was PT?"

"I'm good, dude. Hey, we got cake."

Sam smiled then. "Yeah, I see. That for me?" He struggled painfully to his feet.

"Who else?" Dean grinned, then noticed Sam wincing.

"What the hell happened to you?" He asked, glancing down and seeing the big, white bandage.

Sam shrugged, "Stubbed my toe. Think I broke it."

Dean set the cake box down instantly and gave his brother a gentle push back down. "Sit. Let me look." He gently unwrapped the digit and grimaced when Sam's battered toe was revealed. "Stubbed it? Looks like you squashed it to me? How the hell you'd do that, Sam?"

Sam shrugged, "Just clumsy. It's no big deal. Hurts though. I took some aspirin, but they're not helping much."

Dean stared at his brother. Something was definitely odd. "Seriously, Sam. How'd you do this?"

"We were moving the china cabinet, and it slipped."

We? You and Leslie?"

"Yeah."

Dean started to speak, but stopped when John approached.

"So? How do you like the cake, Sam?"

"I love it! Thanks!"

"Did you see what's on it?"

Sam shook his head.

"Well, it's too dark out here now. Let's go inside and we'll have a little early celebration. I know your birthday's not official til tomorrow, but the cake was ready early."

"Sounds good." Sam waiting til his dad passed him by, then turned and hobbled up the steps behind him.

Dean stood staring behind them for a moment before retrieving the cake and pulling himself painfully up the steps after his family. He followed them into the gaily lit kitchen.

"Soup's on!" Leslie called, when she heard them trickle in, and John caught her with a kiss as they passed through the archway. "Smells good, babe."

"Well, it's Sam's birthday, so I made his favorite." She smiled. "Salad, salad, and more salad."

And sure enough, when the three approached the kitchen table, they found an elaborate salad bar set up featuring enough greens and toppings to feed a family of six for a solid week. Sam's eyes grew huge, and Dean tried hard not to look deflated as they all eyed the spread.

"Wow!" Sam breathed. "This looks … amazing!"

Leslie laughed, "Well, I figured it was the least I could do after dropping a china cabinet on you." She apologized. " Don't worry, Dean, I made burgers for you and your dad." She winked.

"A china cabinet?" John asked in confusion, as he moved to the sink to wash his hands.

Leslie ruffled Sam's hair in the way he hated, "Yes. Sam was good enough to help me move it back out of the way a bit. And to repay him, I think I broke his toe."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, how'd that happen again?"

Leslie turned to face the older boy, voice contrite. "Oh Dean. You're right to be angry with me. It was an accident, but it was a dumb one that never should have happened. I'm not even sure how I did it. All of a sudden, I just lost my grip."

"Nonsense." John cut in. "Dean's not angry with you. Sam's not either. Right, Sam?"

Sam shook his head.

"An accident's an accident." John knelt to look at Sam's toe. "Damn, son. That looks like it hurts like a bitch." He touched it gently and Sam hissed.

"Oh!" Leslie exclaimed, horrified. "Sam! It looks worse than it did before!"

"No, it's okay, really." Sam hated being the center of attention this way.

"Dad, you guys go on and eat. I'm gonna take Sam upstairs and take a look at this. We'll be back in a few."

John stood up, nodding. "Okay. Hurry back. Leslie went to a lot of trouble."

Dean nodded. "We will." He pushed Sam gently ahead of him on the way up the stairs, grabbing the heavy-duty painkillers from the cupboard as they passed.

Upstairs, Dean made Sam stretch his leg straight out on the bed while he gently applied some pain-relieving gel and a fresh bandage.

And Sam had to smile. He could barely feel Dean's ministrations as he hovered over his infirmity. And when the older boy passed him two prescription painkillers and a cup of water, Sam took them gratefully.

Dean studied him. "So what's with all the accidents lately, Sammy? Why so clumsy all of a sudden."

Sam blushed. He knew the answer but didn't want to speak ill of Leslie. "I dunno. Just reached that stage, I guess."

"Um hmm. You notice they only seem to happen when you and Leslie are alone together?"

Sam glanced up, surprised someone else had noticed. "Yeah."

"So, it's her, isn't it? Not you?"

Sam's words suddenly gushed forth like he'd been holding them back for days. "I don't know why, Dean! Every time I'm around her, something happens!"

Dean stared, "Like the hot skillet the other night?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah, and the china cabinet tonight."

"Have there been other times? Things you haven't mentioned?"

Sam looked away.

"Sam? I saw the bruises when you got out of the shower the other day."

The younger boy bit his lip. "They're just accidents, Dean. She's just … nervous around me or something."

But Dean wasn't going to let it go. "Tell me." He insisted.

Sam looked up, almost apologetically, "She … uh … last week, she backed Dad's car into me."

Dean blinked. "What?"

Sam stood up and raised his shirt, tugging down the waist of his sweatpants at the same time. The bruise was massive and ugly, mottled black, green and blue halfway down his thigh and reaching almost to his ribs. "It knocked me down, and she just kept coming. For a minute, I thought it was all over."

Dean rose stiffly to his feet. "What the hell, Sam? You don't tell anybody?"

"Dean! Shh!" Sam moved to close their bedroom door. "She'll hear you!"

"I don't give a damn if she does, Sam! She could have killed you!"

But Sam brought out the puppy eyes, "Please, Dean? You see how happy she makes Dad. It hasn't been like this for him since Mom. Please? I can't be the one who spoils it for him. I just can't."

Dean sank wearily down on the mattress, staring at his brother. "Sam, this is crazy. You can't go on letting her hurt you like this, accidents or not, and I'm starting to think they're not. Who's that damned clumsy?"

"Well, I'll just try harder to stay out of her way or something. It really isn't intentional, Dean. I know it's not. I don't know why she gets so uncomfortable around me. I feel it too. I just don't have that connection that you and Dad have with her. Maybe she's just not used to being around kids, you know? Lots of people get nervous around teenagers."

Dean channeled his anger into concern. "Let me see that. You're lucky you didn't break a rib or worse. How'd you finally get her to stop?"

"I guess I finally screamed loud enough that she heard me over the radio."

"Did she at least fucking apologize?"

"Of course. She felt terrible."

"But not terrible enough to take you to the doctor or to tell me or Dad?"

Sam shrugged. "She was embarrassed, I guess."

"Bullshit."

Sam tugged his pants back in place and pushed Dean away gently. "Come on. Let's go eat dinner and have some of that cake. You all went to a lot of trouble for my birthday, and I want to enjoy it."

Dean stared at his brother, reluctant to go downstairs and face the woman who'd dared hurt something that belonged to Dean. The older boy would never admit it, but he'd always felt more like Sam's parent than his big brother.

Sam read his expression. "And be nice, Dean. Please? For me? For my birthday? I don't wanna make Dad mad and ruin everything."

And as much as Dean wanted to tear down the stairs and confront Leslie for Sam's sudden run of mishaps, he swallowed down his anger and nodded. Sam was right. His birthday celebration wasn't the time or the place for ultimatums.

But Dean and Leslie were going to have words, Dean was determined. As much as he genuinely liked Leslie, nobody hurt Sammy like that and got away with it - not without some really good excuse. And she better hope she had one. If not, there'd be hell to pay, and Dean was more than willing to be the one who doled it out.


	4. The New Complication

Sam was anxious to get back downstairs before Dad realized something was up and came looking. He shepherded Dean out the door and followed him down the hall to the steps. There was a brief pile-up at the bottom as his brother struggled with the final step. It was higher than all the rest, and Dean's legs still weren't all that reliable most days.

Sam glanced back as he waited, bored, and his breath caught in his throat. Leslie stood just outside their bedroom door, her expression deadly. Suddenly, Sam had no doubt she'd overheard everything the boys had said.

Her vicious stare pinned him for a long moment before it melted into a sarcastic smile, and then she turned and walked away toward their father's room.

Sam swallowed hard, suddenly awash in a confusing torrent of emotions. He felt glad and guilty at the same time. Mostly though, he realized, he just felt scared. Something about that look made him feel immensely uneasy, and he couldn't help the shudder that passed through him.

Dean noticed, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, placing himself instinctively behind his compromised brother as he pictured Leslie returning to the top of the stairs, shotgun in hand. "Come on, Dean. I'm hungry."

Dean scowled, "Sorry if my debilitating injury is getting in the way of your next meal, bitch."

Sam snickered, "Well it is. So scoot, you big jerk." He tried to sound annoyed, but kept a firm grasp on Dean's arm until they made it into the kitchen, where he helped the older boy into the one chair with the cushion on it. Sam glanced down in sympathy, knowing Dean always felt worse after his PT sessions. "Stay here. I'll fix your plate."

Sam expected a snarky reply, but when Dean just nodded gratefully, Sam knew the pain was kicking up. He loaded a plate with two buns, dropped two of the greasiest cheeseburgers on top and then heaped the whole thing with onions. The sight and smell of it made Sam nauseous, but he knew how Dean liked his burgers. He dropped it unceremoniously in front of his brother on the table, watching the older boy's eyes light up. "If you live to see thirty, I'll be amazed." Sam joked, picking up his own plate and filling it with greens.

Dean took a huge bite and talked around it. "You might live longer, but I'll live happier."

Sam stared at the spectacle. "We better have mouthwash, or you're sleeping down here tonight."

Dean rolled his eyes and grinned, "Shut it, Samantha. You know you love me."

Leslie joined them then, patting Sam on the back as she passed. "So, is everything good?"

Sam studied her, nodding. "It is. Thanks." She was a hard one to figure out. He watched as she moved over beside John and sat down, coffee in hand. "You're not eating?" He questioned, surprised.

"It's not poisoned, Sam. Cross my heart." She returned rudely.

Sam felt his mouth drop open before he could help it, but she continued.

"You know, I tried to do something nice for you."

Sam glanced at Dean for help and could see that he was just as surprised as Sam by the sudden change in room temperature.

"Leslie, I …" Sam started, trying to apologize even though he had no idea what he'd done.

But suddenly, she must have realized how her words sounded. Every eye in the room was on her, including John's, and not in a nice way. She laughed lightly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snipe. It's just been a long day."

Sam nodded and looked down at his plate, embarrassed. He moved quickly to sit down beside his brother, even though he'd only gotten as far as the lettuce. He kept his face down to hide the pink bloom he knew was rising. He could see Dean toss him a sympathetic look out of the corner of his eye as the room grew silent as a tomb.

John cleared his throat. "So Sam. Did you get a look at your cake yet?"

Sam looked up, shaking his head.

John rose and moved to take the cake out of the bakery box, he stood and tilted it, so Sam could see the design.

The smile that spread across the youngest Winchester's face was genuine. "It's a puppy." He exclaimed softly, getting up and limping over to take a closer look. "I love it! Thanks Dad!"

John cleared his throat again, cutting his eyes to the side. "Oh! And thank you, Leslie. Thanks Dean! It's a cool cake!"

Behind him, Sam could hear Leslie rise and go into the garage off the kitchen. She returned a moment later.

"This was completely Leslie's idea, Sam." John said. "I tried to fight it, but she out-maneuvered me. So happy birthday, son." He pointed behind Sam.

The younger boy turned then, and stood face to face with a grinning Leslie who held an adorable, furry brown puppy in her arms. "Happy birthday, Sam." She echoed.

Sam's eyes widened into saucers as he took the pup from Leslie's arms. The little thing wriggled and whined a bit, getting comfortable. Then it snuggled down against Sam's chest like it belonged there. It reached up a sandpaper tongue and took a quick swipe at his cheek.

Sam giggled like a three-year-old, and from his seat at the kitchen table, Dean couldn't stop grinning. Sammy had wanted a dog for forever, but their nomadic lifestyle had never allowed it.

Sam looked straight at Dean then, smile bright as a Christmas tree. "It's a dog, Dean! We have a dog!"


	5. Shalako

"His name is Shalako." Sam pronounced later that night, as he shut the pup safely inside the bathroom off the bedroom he shared with Dean.

"Shalako?" What's that from?" Dean maneuvered painfully out of his jeans. "Whatever happened to plain old Rex or Tiger?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean! How did you get to be 17 without ever reading Louis L'amour? Shalako was the name of this authentic western town he wanted to build."

So you're naming him after a place?" The older boy chuckled.

"No. Shalako never got built. Stuff happened. L'amour died. That was the end of it. I still like the name though. We can call him Shalli for short."

"So what? It's a Mexican word? What's it mean?" The older boy sat down to rest. Getting dressed and undressed these days took everything he had.

Sam shook his head. "Native American. The Shalako are messengers to the gods of the Zuni people of New Mexico. 'Course it was also a book and a movie, but I like the Zuni story better."

Dean stared. "Your geekness never fails to amaze me, Sam." He stood up and began wrestling out of his t-shirt, prompting Sam to stare.

The bruises along his brother's back and hips were still visible, even after nearly five months. They'd mostly faded to a sickly green, but Sam knew they still bothered the older boy, especially on those days when he was subjected to the painful physical therapy sessions he needed to regain full motor coordination in his legs and arms. Dean still fell down sometimes - right out of the blue. His legs would just collapse, and he'd hit the floor or the pavement or the grass right where he stood. It was Dean's long and painful recuperation that accounted for both boys still sharing a room. They'd moved here in February, brought Dean home from the hospital to this house, and Sam was determined to stay close to his brother until he recovered completely. Dean still needed help to the bathroom in the middle of the night sometimes, and sometimes he had screaming nightmares about the shapeshifter and the fall. Sam would hurry to wake him up on those nights, not wanting him to have to relive the horror of that day.

But right now, Dean needed help getting his t-shirt over his head. Sam gave him a gentle push toward his bed and helped him ease himself to the mattress. "Here. I got it." The younger boy said, maneuvering Dean's arms out of the flimsy cotton one at a time. "You hurtin'?"

"No, I'm cool." Dean lied.

"Yeah, you're cool, jerk." Sam snorted, reaching for the heating pads they kept next to Dean's bed for nights like these. He plugged them both in and helped his brother slide under the covers in just his boxers. He stood looking down in sympathy. "So where's it hurt the worst?"

"Middle of my back," Dean said through gritted teeth, and hissed when Sam made him roll sideways to slip the heating pad beneath him.

"Sorry," Sam apologized, feeling like a heel. "Where else?"

"Left knee."

"On top or underneath?"

"Top. Right on the kneecap."

Sam placed the second pad directly atop the thin sheet covering his brother's knee, then pulled the covers back over the older boy.

"Better?"

"Yes, Mom." Dean sniped grumpily.

Sam chuckled. "I"ll leave your cane right here, so you can reach it if you need it, old man."

Sam received a pillow in the face for his remark, which he kept and plumped exaggeratedly and placed on his own bed. "Cool! Thanks!"

Dean groaned, an arm tossed over his eyes. "Just let me die in peace, bitch."

Sam snickered again, and snicked off the overhead light, leaving just the lamp on his bedside table glowing. He checked again on Shalako. The small border collie was curled up in a corner of the fluffy blanket Sam had given him, but he'd messed the newspapers the younger boy had put down earlier. As he cleaned up the mess and lined the floor with clean papers, Sam decided he'd begin trying to housebreak the pup tomorrow.

"You're a good boy, aren't you Shallie?" Sam sat down by the sink and pulled the puppy into his lap. "You're such a good boy. And once you learn how to do this stuff the right way, you can take turns sleeping on Dean's bed and mine. Would you like that? I bet Dean could use some puppy lovin' too. You can belong to both of us."

The pup looked up at Sam adoringly, and took another wet swipe at his face that set Sam giggling all over again. "Stop it, boy! That's tickles."


	6. The Explanation

"This is a nice Colt, Dean." Leslie noted, as the two sat together at the kitchen table, cleaning John's various weapons. And Dean wondered how much John had shared about the work he used to do before becoming something so mundane as the manager of a gun store.

"Yeah, it's pretty nice. It's an antique." Dean agreed, singularly leaving out the Colt's most-important feature - its ability to kill supernatural creatures of every kind.

"I've written oodles of articles on Samuel Colt, you know. There's hardly anything I don't know about the man." The woman said, somehow without sounding like she was bragging. "He's a personal hero of mine. I can't believe your dad has had this weapon all this time and never let me see it." She handled the stock reverently.

Dean snorted, "Well, Dad likes to play things close to the vest."

The older woman smiled, "I'm finding that out." She glanced over at Dean. "You know, he didn't tell me he had kids until forever. You and Sam came as quite a shock." She laughed.

Dean frowned, wondering if this was his excuse to bring up the subject of his brother. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for it. "You know, Leslie, now that you mention Sam … we were wondering if there's a particular reason that he makes you so nervous?" He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to concentrate on taking apart his dad's Glock.

Leslie froze. Then she sighed. Lifting guilty eyes to Dean, she came clean. "Yes. There is. I just … I just didn't want to burden anyone with it."

He waited.

Leslie seemed to be trying to compose her words, which surprised the young hunter. Usually she had no problem speaking her mind.

"I … uh … I had a son, Dean." She said, flooring him. "He was exactly the age Sammy is now when I … when I lost him." Her eyes watered as she bent back over the Colt.

Dean swallowed nervously. This hadn't been what he was expecting.

"Nicholas was a lot, and I mean A LOT like your brother, right down to his crazy hair and ridiculous soft spot for animals." Her voice seemed to break.

"What happened to him?"

It took her a moment to reply. "Uh, he died. He was on a skiing trip with a friend out in Utah, and there was an avalanche …" She couldn't finish.

"Oh." Dean said, knowing he should say something comforting, but not sure what. "Uh, does Dad know?"

Leslie smiled. "No, it … Nick never came up."

Dean frowned, wondering how that could be. "Oh, Uh. I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Dean." She looked up, tears welling in her eyes. "It never really goes away, you know - the hurt. But it had sort of relegated itself to a back burner, I guess. Then I met Sam, and just like that … it was all fresh again." She affected a faraway look. "Dean, Sam is SO much like Nick, it physically hurts sometimes to look at him, to hear his voice, to watch the way he … he shakes his hair out of his face. You know, sometimes, I'll be doing something as simple as standing at the stove, cooking, and I'll hear Sam crack a joke so much like Nick used to do, and suddenly I'm right back there. I've even caught myself spinning around in shock once or twice, convinced the ghost of my dead son …" She stopped talking.

That accounted for the incident with the hot skillet, Dean thought,as he was overcome with sympathy for this soft-spoken woman who'd seen such tragedy. He couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to lose Sam. He covered her hand with his own.

"I think you should tell Dad. I think it will … it might … you know … help some."

She nodded, "You're right, of course - especially since I seem to keep … since Sam and I have this way of … you know … colliding all the time. I feel terrible about it. It's just that sometimes, he says something or does something or moves in such a familiar way that I'm instantly transported back to the way it was before. I think I sort of … fade out … when that happens. And then suddenly I'm aware again, but it's too late - Sam has gotten his toe smashed or his arm burned." She buried her face in her hands, "And … and it's like I hurt my own son. Dean, I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I shouldn't still be feeling this way!"

"Of course you should. I mean, I can't really imagine what it's like to lose a kid, but I remember how it felt losing my mom. And I can't begin to imagine the pain if anything ever happened to Sam. You can't help how you feel or how long it takes."

She nodded, "You really can't! I thought I was over all this, but apparently, I'm not." She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. "Now enough about my pathetic past. Let's get these weapons bright and shining to surprise your dad when he gets home."

Dean sat back, relieved to have the subject changed. He returned to working on the Glock, thinking of how he was going to explain to Sam why Leslie was the way she was when his father's girlfriend said something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"You know, Dean, Samuel Colt had a brother who killed himself. It was a huge scandal for the family - having a boy like that. I imagine he felt a lot like you do at the thought of losing Sammy." She smiled absently, "In the end though, it was probably for the best. He was a bit of an embarrassment. The Colt family was much better off without him."


	7. Arrested

"Sam! I swear sometimes, you're more of a damned embarrassment than anything else!" John hollered above the clang of the store's alarm system. "Why did you have to trip the damned alarm, anyway?" He moved to the alarm panel and desperately punched in numbers to stop the obnoxious noise.

Nothing happened. The deafening "whoop whoop whoop" went on and on, echoing across the deserted streets of town like a fire whistle.

"Damn it! The code's not working. The police are gonna show up now, and how am I gonna explain that to Mr. Martin?" John worried that the store's owner might not find it amusing that his manager's 13-year-old kid tripped over his own feet and woke up the whole damned town.

"I'm not supposed to have anyone in here after close." John complained, glaring at his embarrassed son. "Just … go! Go wait for me in the truck. I'll have to wait for the cops to show up to shut the damned thing off!"

Mortified, Sam slunk out of the shop and headed for the old Ford parked on the street. His face was tinged pink with embarrassment at the words his father had uttered. And while he'd never admit it to anyone, those words had cut him worse than any knife. At thirteen, Sam already felt awkward enough for two people. The way his arms and legs were outgrowing the rest of his body left him tripping over himself and knocking things down at alarming rates.

And now this. Dad was pissed, and Sam didn't see it getting better any time soon.

"Should have just stayed home." He grumbled to himself. He'd considered it, but then Dad had said he had to go back in after dinner to do the inventory, and Dean was already gone on a date.

And that left just Sam and Leslie alone in the house. And Sam was doing everything he could to avoid that exact scenario.

So Sam had offered to help, and the rest was history. It had all gone so well until the very end when they were done and the numbers had all been punched in. Dad had set the alarm and they'd both stepped out onto the sidewalk, but then Sam remembered he'd left his history book on the counter. He'd yanked the door back open before Dad could turn the key and darted back inside.

Still, things would have been fine if Sam hadn't managed to suddenly trip over absolutely nothing. He'd smashed painfully into the front window just as the time ran out, triggering an alarm that sounded like a police siren in the silence of the night.

And speaking of the police, Sam winced as a cruiser pulled up and two officers stepped out. They shouted something to Dad, and he stepped back from the door immediately and raised both hands above his hand. One of the officers headed toward John, and the other made a beeline for Sam, sitting in the truck.

"Hands up!" The trooper yelled, pinning Sam with a hard stare, one hand on the holster that hung at his hip.

Instantly, Sam raised both hands in the air. He was silent as the officer cautiously approached his side of the vehicle and asked him to step out.

"I'm sorry!" Sam babbled, "It was an accident! Dad!"

"Sam, stay calm, son. Everything is fine." John yelled back over the roar of the store alarm.

But everything seemed far from fine when the two officers manhandled both Winchesters to the ground and cuffed their hands tightly behind them. They stowed the two carefully in the back of separate cruisers and called a tow truck for John's Ford.

Sam tried not to panic as the car holding his father sped away, and he was left behind in the back of the second cruiser, alone and shaking.

"Can I make a phone call? Please?" Sam begged, but the officers ignored him as they moved around the cruiser, securing the area and shutting off the store alarm.

Sam sat in the back of the cruiser for twenty minutes before a man showed up who was apparently the store owner. One of the officers escorted the man over to identify Sam, and the man shook his head.

"Thank you, Mr. Martin," the officer said. "That's all we needed to know."

"Wait!" Sam tried to interrupt. "I can explain!"

The officer dropped into the car and started the engine. "Save it for the judge, kid. Around here, breaking and entering is a big deal, especially when it's a weapon's store."

"But I didn't …"

"I don't care! Now shut up. You can explain it all back at the precinct."

"Please? I need to call my brother!"

Sam continued to beg for another 10 minutes before deciding his pleas were falling on deaf ears. He steeled himself as the cruiser pulled into the station, the officer opened the door and pulled him out with a stern warning. "It will go a lot easier on you if you shut up, do what we ask, and behave yourself. Otherwise, I'll toss you in the lockup, kid. And trust me, that's not where you want to be. Got it?"

Sam nodded, terrified.

"Good. Now you'll get your chance to tell your side of the story when it's time. But don't go in there acting all demanding and bitching about a phone call. You'll get it when you get it."

"Okay." Sam agreed, shivering.

And he did just that. Sam let the officers fingerprint him, take his mugshot and then cuff him to a chair. They sat him off to the side where he could see out the main doors into the receiving area. Sam watched as countless people were brought in hour after hour before someone thought to ask him if he'd made his phone call. When they uncuffed him and took him to a phone, he dialed Dean's number right away. After five rings, Dean's phone cut off without ever going to voicemail.

Because no one picked up. They let Sam have a second call, which he placed to Leslie. After hearing what happened, Leslie promised she'd be right down to get him, and Sam sighed in relief.

But it was short-lived. Sam was suddenly transferred to a juvenile facility across town in the middle of the night and was still cooling his heels in a cell two days later, wondering what on Earth had happened to his family.


	8. The Scramble

Dean stormed the doors of the precinct at 5 am, bail money in hand. He approached the intake officer and waited to be addressed.

"I'm here to post bail for my dad and to pick up my little brother."

The officer frowned, confusion painting her face. "Who's your father?"

"John Winchester."

The officer tapped a staccato across her keyboard and shook her head. "He was bailed out hours ago by a Leslie Benigan." She informed him.

Dean's mouth dropped open. "What about Sam Winchester? My brother?"

Again with the computer. "It looks like Ms. Benigan refused to accept responsibility for the minor child. He was transferred early this morning to our juvenile facility across town."

Dean stared. "That's bullshit. What about my dad? He wouldn't just leave Sam here."

The officer shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's all I know."

"Where's this juvenile facility?"

"It's on East Medina Dr, but I'm afraid you can't just walk in and retrieve him from there."

Dean's felt his heartbeat increase, and eyes grew murderous. "And why exactly can't I?"

"Because his guardian refused responsibility. She effectively turned him over to the state. There will have to be a hearing now. In the meantime, your brother will have to stay in juvenile lockup."

Dean leaned in close, "Now you listen to me. Leslie Benigan is not Sam's guardian. My father is. And there's no way in hell he'd ever write Sam off like that. Somebody made a mistake, and if my brother suffers even a broken eyelash over this bullshit, my dad will sue the city for everything it's got. Now give me the name and address of the place that has Sam."

"They're not going to let you see him. When a minor is turned over by parental consent, there's a mandatory 72-hour hold during which time physical, mental and emotional evaluations are performed. The earliest you can hope to see your brother is sometime early next week.

Dean ignored her spiel. "Address!" He barked. "Now!"

As she relented and gave Dean the address, he steeled himself from thinking too far ahead. Sam in jail just didn't compute, and he wondered what the hell had gone wrong that their dad had let something like this happen. He whipped out his phone as soon as he was outside.

"Dad? What the hell? How could you just leave Sam behind?"

"What the hell are you talking about Dean? I thought you had him?"

"I don't have him! The fucking state has him! They said Leslie refused to take responsibility for him!"

Dean heard the buzz of conversation, then Leslie was on the phone. "Dean! What happened? Sam called last night to tell me he was being held and to say you were coming to pick him up? Your father and I thought you'd already gotten him?"

"No, I didn't fucking get him! I didn't get Dad's message until two hours ago. My phone was acting up!"

"Dean!" Leslie sounded horrified. "I'm so sorry! We'll go get him right now! Where is he?"

"Put Dad back on!" Dean barked, too distraught to worry about hurting the feelings of the woman who'd turned his baby brother over to the damned state.

"Dean. Where's Sam now?"

"He's at some fucking juvenile prison on East Medina Drive! They said we can't get in to see him until next week. They're gonna perform a shit-load of tests on him."

"Like hell." John growled. "I'm leaving right now, Dean. We'll meet you there in a half hour."

"Hang on, Sammy." Dean prayed silently, as he hurried back to the Impala and zipped it out into traffic. "I'm coming, little brother. Just hang on."


	9. Visiting Hours

Sam had never seen so much builder's beige, so many bricks, in his entire life. The whole facility held a depressing cast of bland, boring and blah. With the exception of the colorful, plastic furniture that peppered the recreation space, Sam's world had been narrowed down to a tunnel of ugly muted hues that reminded him of a rainy day.

Sam was surprised to find he wasn't an inmate. Instead, he was a resident. And the cubicle in which he slept not a cell, but a room.

But the youngest Winchester wasn't fooled.

He was as much a prisoner here as he'd been back at the precinct, handcuffed to a chair and forgotten.

And forgotten seemed to be the word of the day. It had been the better part of a solid week since he'd seen or spoken with either member of his family. And while Sam didn't have too hard a time imagining his father leaving him here to learn a lesson, Sam couldn't believe Dean would go along with it.

He missed his brother something fierce. And Shallie. He hoped Dean was taking care of her.

On the third day, a lawyer had come in and talked to him about his charges. The store owner wanted him brought up on grand theft firearm - a felony under California law. When Sam had denied that he was there to steal anything, the lawyer just looked at him in a jaded way and said he would repeat the explanation Sam had given him - that he was helping his father with inventory - but that Sam shouldn't count on leniency. Apparently, the gun shop had been robbed twice before, once resulting in a shooting, and the assailant never caught. Sam's lawyer didn't expect anyone to believe the boy was innocent.

Sam wondered what good it was to have a lawyer who'd already professed him guilty, but he didn't really think he had any options.

So he kept his head down and his nose clean and tried not to draw attention to himself from any of the other residents, some of whom looked at him like he was the main course at a fancy dinner.

And he prayed daily that Dean would just show up soon and straighten everything out.

Sam did what he was told. He moved along in line like the attendants told him to. He ate when they said and showered when they said and retired to his "room" when they said. He used the bathroom when they said too, and the lack of privacy was horrifying. At no time were any of the boys allowed to be alone together without an attendant present, but Sam soon realized that the boys who'd been here before, or who'd been here the longest, had ways of getting around that rule.

He found this out the hard way one night after dinner when two boys cornered him alone in the shower room. Before Sam even realized he was in trouble, one of the boys had him shoved up against the wall, a strong arm to his throat, while the other stood watching the door.

Sam had asked what they wanted of him, but when the boy who held him fast only leered and leaned in as though to kiss him, Sam panicked. He beat the boy unconscious in a heartbeat, drawing the wrath of the attendants as he did so, and earned himself a nightstick upside the head, a trip to the infirmary for seven stitches, and a week in confinement.

It was his third day sitting alone in the confinement room when someone unexpectedly came to get him. They led him out to the visitor's lounge and left him standing there in handcuffs, an ever-present attendant leaning against the wall by the door. After a few moments of standing there aimlessly, Sam sat down at one of the tables to await his fate. His head hurt tremendously. After shutting him away in confinement, no one had looked at his head wound since. The stitches felt tight, like the skin was puffing up around them, but Sam had no way to see if they were becoming infected. He reached up to touch them on occasion, and winced at the heat he felt there, but until his week was up, he knew no one would bother checking them.

He sighed and tried not to feel hopeless.

Then he heard the door behind him creak open, and when he turned to look, Dean and his dad stepped inside, looking quickly around. Dean's eyes landed on him first and widened to saucers. He was across the floor and grabbing Sam in a crushing hug before the boy could even greet him.

Sammy! You okay? What's going on with your head?" Dean was angrily eyeing his stitches. "These are infected, Sam? What the hell? Doesn't anybody have eyes in this place? How'd you get stitches anyway? So help me, I'm gonna end some sonofabitch, Sam!"

Sam wanted nothing more than to laugh at the intense relief he felt at realizing that Dean and Dad had finally come for him. But as he stood there, encased in a group hug by them both, and still cuffed to the point that he couldn't hug back, he found, to his keen embarrassment, that he suddenly couldn't stop sobbing.

Dean pulled away, eyes wet. "Don't cry, Sammy. Please don't cry." He pleaded. "It's gonna be okay. I promise."

But all Sam could do was lean his forehead pathetically on his brother's shoulder and make embarrassing noises in his attempt to stop crying.

"Sam." John said, rubbing the boy's head. "Listen, our lawyer is going to get you out of this. You have to be strong for just a little while longer, okay?"

Sam suddenly stopped breathing, raising incredulous eyes to his father. "You m-mean you're n-not here to get me out?" He began to hyperventilate. "Dad please! Whatever I did, I'm sorry, okay? Don't leave me here, please!" He turned to Dean, eyes huge and pleading, "Dean please! Don't leave me here alone again! Please! You hav-have to take me with you! Dean, I'm gonna die in here!"

"Shhh, Sammy. Calm down. It's gonna be okay. I promise, all right? We're gonna get you out. Leslie is working on it right now."

But Sam shook his head, raised his cuffed hands to grasp the front of his brother's shirt. "No! Today! Now! Please, Dean!"

But Dean couldn't speak for the sudden fury that washed over him the moment he realized that Sam stood there in handcuffs. He took his brother's restrained hands and rubbed them gently, bringing them to his cheek. "I promise, Sammy. You're not gonna be in here much longer. You gotta believe me, okay? We're getting you out."

Sam fell silent then, but his eyes spoke volumes. They broke Dean's heart when the older boy realized the depth of his brother's despair. He pulled him to the bench that fronted the cafeteria-style table and sat holding his hands. He brushed a strand of hair away from Sam's forehead and cursed anew at the inflamed trail of jagged stitches that were going to leave a hefty scar behind.

"How'd this happen, Sammy, hmm? You tell me."

Sam hitched, "T-two boys, in the show-shower."

Dean's face grew ugly. "What about them?" He growled.

"They … they tr-tried st-stuff, Dean! Please! You gotta get me out of here!"

Dean closed his eyes and willed his heart not to break. "Tell me, Sam. How far did it go?"

The younger boy shook his head. "I stopped it. I-I beat him up. I … he … I beat him up. But the attendant hit me with his nightstick. Knocked me out. I woke up in the infirmary, and they stitched me up and put me in confinement. I have a whole week in confinement. This is only the third day."

John sat down on the bench behind his youngest and wrapped strong arms around him. "Sammy …" He said, willing his voice to keep working.

"Dad," Dean said, "We can't afford to wait on Leslie. We need to get him out of here yesterday."

John nodded, pulling out his phone. "I'll call Bobby again. See if he knows anyone who can pull some strings for us." He moved off toward the windows to get better reception.

Dean's eyes returned to his brother who was staring straight back. "Dean, I don't understand how it got this far! I didn't do anything. Now they're talking about felony charges!"

Dean's eyes narrowed, "Who's talking about felony charges?"

"My-my lawyer. He says I'm being charged with gr-grand theft f-firearm, and it's a f-felony in California."

"Over my dead body, you will, Sam. That's not gonna happen, okay? Who's this lawyer guy anyway? Leslie's been trying to get in touch with a friend of hers to defend you, but she didn't say anything about sending him to talk with you yet."

Sam shook his head, "Public defender. He thinks I'm guilty, Dean! How's he going to defend me if he doesn't believe me?"

John strode back over. "Bobby's making a call right now. I should have called him right away instead of letting Leslie handle this. Sam, I'm sorry."

Sam looked up, hopeful. "Can he get me out today?"

John stared at his youngest and smiled, "We're sure gonna try, Sammy."


	10. Released

From the moment Bobby's lawyer friend got involved, things moved quickly. A single phone call to John, a short conversation with Sam, and the man was at the office of the prosecutor, damaging evidence in hand. When he explained the string of major screw-ups that marked his under-aged client's case, all charges were immediately dropped.

Within an hour of John's phone call to Bobby, Sam was released from the juvenile facility. When the attendant came to the visitor's lounge to tell them the good news and ask if Sam wanted to return to his cell to get anything, the boy shook his head desperately. He held out his hands for the removal of the cuffs, and when they dropped away, he stepped back beside his brother. Dean moved instantly in front of Sam, leading the way out.

As they strode past the fence that bordered the yard, the boy whom Sam had beaten approached them, separated by 12 feet of chain link fence topped with razor ribbon. He approached Sam, rattling the fence.

"Where you goin', girl?" He snarled, "Bitch, you ain't goin' nowhere. You ridin' with me." Sam blanched and backed into John for protection as Dean froze and locked startled eyes with his brother.

Dean spun, furious. "What did you call him?" he snarled dangerously.

"What? You can't hear, G? That baby is mine! I own that sweet ass."

Dean pushed forward to the fence, "You little sonofabitch. Don't you even look at him!"

The boy stood laughing as John descended on his oldest boy and caught him firmly by the arm. "Let it go, Dean. Let's get Sam out of here."

"Yeah, you go on now. Get the bitch out. Don't matter. I got people. They find you, baby!" He called after Sam. "They find you and make you their bitch! Get you all ready for me when you get back. I be waitin'!"

At that, John's eyes went dark and he stepped to the fence, saying nothing. The boy took one look and backed away. He put both hands in the air in surrender. "Chill G. My baby gets it. She mine, She know it." He grinned.

This time it was Dean holding his father back with a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Dad. Sam needs to to get the hell away from this place."

Dean stared behind him as they made their way to the parking lot, and he felt a shiver roll down his back when the boy blew Sam a kiss, "Next time, girl. Next time you ride with me!" the boy called, laughing. Dean heard Sam make a noise that sounded a lot like a whimper then, and he hurried to catch up, tossing a comforting arm around the slight figure. Sam was shaking and not from the temperature.

"Come on Sammy. It's okay. I got you." Dean helped him slide into the front middle seat of the Impala, slipping in next to him. He took one of Sam's ice-cold hands in his and sat rubbing it as John climbed behind the wheel. He breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over Sam's head at his dad.

"Whatever Bobby did, we owe him big, Dad.." He swallowed hard, thinking about what could have happened.

John nodded. "Should have called him days ago, son." He addressed Sam. "I'm so sorry."

Sam nodded, too emotional to speak.

Dean tried to fill the silence, "Hey! I bet you're starving, hunh? Wanna stop off somewhere and eat?"

But Sam shook his head. "I just want clean clothes and a shower." He answered softly, breaking his brother's heart with the lost tone in his voice. The younger boy moved closer to Dean on the seat, nearly wrapping himself around his brother to find the comfort he'd been missing for so long.

Dean's eyes watered then, and he wrapped a protective arm around the boy who meant more to him than he could ever admit. "Sure Sammy. Whatever you say, man. It's gonna be okay." He turned his face to the window, voice choking. "It's all gonna be fine."


	11. Sam's Questions

Sam didn't speak until they pulled up in front of the house. "Is Leslie here?"

John shifted, looking guilty. "She really wanted to be, Sam. But she had an assignment that took her out of town."

Sam nodded, secretly relieved. He was confused and angry and not understanding how his family could have just left him in the detention center to rot for almost a whole week, and he suspected that Leslie was somehow behind it.

Dean studied his brother, reading his thoughts. When Sam looked up, Dean smiled, "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you inside. Shallie has been driving us all crazy, missing you."

John stepped out from behind the wheel. "Pizza sound good? I'll order."

When both boys nodded, he bounded up the steps, slamming the screen door behind him.

When Dean started to follow, Sam stopped him with a softly spoken word, "Dean."

The older boy turned back around, "What, Sammy?"

Sam bit his lip, debating, then he took the plunge. "What … what took so long? I mean … I … I called you six days ago, Dean. You didn't pick up. Your phone didn't even pick up. And then I called Leslie, and she promised she'd be right down to get me. What happened?"

The sudden, overwhelming guilt that appeared on Dean's face made Sam feel physically ill, and he wished he hadn't asked.

"Sammy, I'm so sorry. I don't know how I missed your call. My phone was being stupid or something. You don't know how it felt to realize that by the time I got there, it was too late. I was out at that detention center every day. I swear. They wouldn't let me near you, and I tried, Sam. I really did." He looked away, swallowing. "I know it's not enough. It's not an excuse for leaving you there. I'll never forgive myself."

Sam nodded. "But what happened to Leslie? I talked to her, Dean! I told her what was going on, and she promised me she'd be there."

Dean looked torn between being sad and being pissed. He shook his head. "I don't know for sure, Sam. She swears up and down that she thought I'd gotten you out already. I don't … I just … I don't know. Somebody, somewhere dropped the ball. And I don't know if it was Leslie or the cops." He studied his little brother. "It's not right that you had to pay the price for whatever went wrong. And I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of it all. I will. Dad's talking about suing the city. You're underage Sam. They probably weren't supposed to keep you at all. I mean, what did they do that night?"

Sam leaned against the grill of the Impala and thought back.

They, um, they fingerprinted me and took my picture. They handcuffed me to a chair and wouldn't let me call you for hours. I was sc-scared, Dean." He looked wide-eyed as his brother. "I thought they were going to let me go. That whole time, I thought someone would figure out it was just a dumb mistake and let me go. They didn't even read me my rights. Then someone came and unlocked my cuffs, and they took me to the bathroom and let me get a drink of water, then they cuffed my ankles too and loaded me into a van and took me to that … that place."

Dean grew angrier by the minute as he listened to Sam describe his ordeal. He was fairly certain his brother's rights had been violated, but they wouldn't know for sure until they talked with Sam's new lawyer tomorrow.

Dean nodded, trying to appear calm. "And then what, Sam?"

But Sam shook his head. "I don't want to talk about that place, Dean. I don't want to ever think about it again. I don't know how people survive in places like that. I'd go crazy. I would."

Dean swiped at his eyes. "Well, you don't have to ever worry about it again, okay? They dropped all the charges against you, and Dad will make them expunge your record too. You can count on that."

Sam nodded, then spoke up shyly, "Hey, uh, Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam couldn't work up his courage to ask his next question. But he was pretty sure Dean would know the answer, and he was genuinely curious.

"What is it? Come on. You can tell me anything, Sammy. You know that."

Sam plunged ahead, "That … that boy back there when we were leaving. I don't understand what he was saying. Why did he call me a girl and baby and stuff? What did he mean that I was riding with him? He said something like that in the shower too - that he'd take care of me if I rode with him?"

Dean's face turned to stone, "That little bastard was the one who gave you trouble in the shower?"

Sam nodded.

Dean drew close, studying his brother's face. "Sam, look at me. You telling me the truth about what happened in there? Just him giving you a hard time and you giving him a beat down? Nothing else?"

Sam swallowed and nodded.

"So the little bastard never touched you? He never put his hands on you?"

Sam thought about that. "Well, he pushed me into the wall and pressed his arm into my throat. I think he was trying to choke me out, but didn't know how to do it right."

Dean's eyes closed as he struggled to compose himself. When he thought of what had nearly happened …

And then he leaned in like he wanted to … to kiss me or something. That's when I panicked and started hitting him. But I don't … why'd he call me a girl? Because of my hair?"

Dean wanted to cry at his little brother's innocence - innocence that had almost been tarnished forever. He considered his next words carefully.

"It's just prison-speak, I guess, Sammy." He lied, not wanting the same images in Sam's head that were currently beating around inside his own. "I think they say that stuff to sound tough. You know - to scare the new kids. Just try not to think about him anymore, okay? You're safe now. I'm here. I'd never let anything happen to you. Not on my watch."

"I know."

Dean smiled, pushing his fury to the back of his mind for the time being. But the images Sam's questions put into his head wouldn't be quieted. Whenever he pictured his small, slight brother up against the wall of some dingy shower with that dude's arm to his throat … Well, he really wanted to kill someone - preferably whoever was responsible for sending Sam to that hellhole in the first place.

Whoever that was, their time was coming.

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Thanks, everyone, for the enthusiastic reception of "The Inconvenience." I love hearing all your thoughts and ideas, and most of them are amazing, and I wish I'd thought of them :) I hope you'll keep on reading and reviewing. Enjoy the story :)_


	12. Dell

Sam left Dean in the kitchen and headed straight upstairs to the shower, but he was met at their bedroom door by an over-enthusiastic Shallie. The little pup jumped so high in excitement at seeing Sam again that he nearly hurt himself in landing. Sam gathered him up and sat down on the floor, his back against Dean's bed.

"Hey boy. Did you miss me? Did you miss me, Shallie? Cause I sure missed you." Sam felt his throat beginning to ache with unshed tears. The little dog's happiness at seeing him shook off the bindings he'd wrapped around his heart, and Sam suddenly couldn't keep the tears back any longer.

"You take care of Dean while I was gone, Boy? Hunh? Cause that's your job, you know. You gotta keep Dean safe from Leslie when I'm not around. Okay?" He sobbed the words into the little dog's fur, and out in the hallway, Dean fought back his own tears at the way his little brother had just fallen apart and at the secret he'd shared with his pet. He quietly turned and made his way painfully back down the stairs, determined to give Sam the privacy he needed to heal.

Later, after the pizza arrived and John called upstairs to let Sam know, the youngest Winchester returned to the kitchen. His skin was bright pink from a shower in water that had obviously been way too hot. Both Winchesters noticed, but neither commented. Dean simply sat Sam down in front of a plate and plopped two slices of pizza and some leftover greens on it.

"Eat up, baby bro. Cause afterward, I'm restitching that mess on your head. Otherwise, you're gonna have an ugly scar."

Sam smiled without speaking, and Dean noticed. "What?"

"Nothing," He brother shrugged. "It's just …when they were stitching me up, I was wishing it was you. It never hurts like that when you do it. 'Course you always give me painkillers first." Sam took a bite of pizza.

Dean stared, "You didn't get painkillers before they did that hatchet job?"

Sam shook his head, intent on his pizza. "I didn't think I was hungry." He noted. "This is amazing."

Dean turned to his father in anger. "When do we meet with Sam's lawyer again about suing everybody in this whole damned town?"

"Easy, Dean. We go in tomorrow at 10."

Dean grumbled. "I want everyone involved in this shitstorm punished. I don't care if I have to do it myself."

John smiled indulgently, "Define everyone."

"Your asshole boss for one, Dad. He's the one that pushed for felony charges, according to the lawyer who came to see Sam while he was in there. Then there's the cops who never read him his rights and kept him from calling anyone. Maybe if he'd been able to call right away, my stupid phone would have still been working, and none of this would have happened. Then there's whoever did the facial reconstruction on him without painkillers and apparently with a dirty needle." Dean fumed, becoming angrier with each breath.

Sam stared at his brother. "It's okay, Dean. I'm okay. It's over now. I don't need revenge. I just need to forget it ever happened."

"Well I do need revenge, Sam. And plenty of it. I want it served up on a silver platter with power-hungry assholes hanging off the sides. Just because you're a kid, it doesn't mean you don't have rights. I can't wait to talk to that guy tomorrow. He'd better be on our side."

"He's a friend of Bobby's, Dean. He'll be on Sam's side. Don't worry."

And sure enough, when the trio arrived at the office of Benson, Carrington and Singer, they were quickly ushered in like royalty, despite being a good 10 minutes early.

Sam and Dean studied the name stenciled on the door. "Singer?" They mouthed in unison. But then Sam's lawyer, Wendell Singer, swept into the room, greeted them all and motioned for them to take seats at the roomy conference table.

"Sam, I think we'll begin with you. What can you tell me about the night you were arrested?"

"Uh, Well, Mr. Singer, they split me and Dad up and put us in the backs of separate police cruisers …" Sam started.

"Call me Dell, Sam. Everybody does. Even my curmudgeon of a second cousin, Bobby. And incidentally, that was their first mistake. You're a minor. You have the right to have a parent present with you at all times."

Dean was liking this guy already.

"Then they eventually took me to the precinct and fingerprinted me and took my picture."

Dell leaned forward. "So they officially arrested you. On what charges?"

Sam looked confused. "I don't know."

"Nobody told you? Not even when they read you your rights?"

Dean interrupted here. "They never read him his rights."

Dell frowned, looking at Sam. "That true, Sam?"

The younger boy nodded.

"You're absolutely certain? Maybe you were too scared or too nervous to hear the whole thing, but if they arrest you, they have to read you a Miranda statement. It begins, 'You have the right to remain silent and to refuse to answer questions. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking with police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you … blah blah blah." He studied Sam closely. "Any of this sounding familiar?"

Sam shook his head. "They didn't. I'm certain."

Dell sat back, tapping his pen on the desk. "Well, balls." He snorted, sending Dean into a coughing fit.

"So when they took you back for questioning. They took you to an interview room, right?"

Sam shook his head.

"Where'd they question you?"

"They didn't. They just handcuffed me to a chair and left me there for hours."

"He didn't get his phone call either." Dean piped up.

Dell frowned. "At all?"

"Well, no. I mean eventually I did. But it wasn't until hours later."

"Hmmm. Strike number three. You get your phone call in the first hour, Sam. You're allowed two - one must go to a family member or friend. The other goes to an attorney."

Sam shook his head. "I called Dean first, but his phone was broken. Then I called Leslie."

Dell glanced at John. "Leslie's the girlfriend?"

John nodded. "She's my girlfriend. Yes."

"So, when did you get to tell your side of what happened?"

Sam shrugged. "I never did."

Dell looked disbelieving. "Not at all?"

"No."

Dell smiled. "Okay, Sam. Thank you. Now, John, let me ask you this. Does …" he checked his notes, "Leslie Benigan have parental authority over Sam?"

John shook his head. "Of course not. These are my boys."

"So, legally, she had no authority to request that the state take responsibility for him?"

John looked stunned. "No! Why would you ask that?"

"She had no authority to demand he be sent specifically to the Medina Juvenile Corrections Facility?"

"What!" Dean exploded. "Did that happen?"

Dell nodded. "According to Sam's records, Leslie Benigan presented herself as Sam's legal guardian and requested he be sent there ASAP." He glared at John. "You know Medina Juvenile has a reputation as the worst facility in the state? Rape, murder, assault - they're all commonplace at Medina. Mostly because it's the only facility in California that houses both juvenile and adult offenders together in the same, general population." He looked over at Sam. "Sam, I'm not trying to scare you, but considering your age and your … appearance. You're a very lucky boy that you got out of Medina when you did."

John sat dumbfounded, his mouth open, unable to answer. Dean looked like he was ready to murder the next person who spoke.

Dell turned back to Sam. "Now Sam, this next line of questioning might be a bit uncomfortable, but I need you to be truthful, okay?"

Sam nodded nervously as Dean interrupted, "Wait a minute."

"What is it, Dean?"

"Why is it going to be uncomfortable for him?"

Dell was straightforward. "Because it deals with his violent past and his history of animal mutilation."

"What!" All three Winchesters exploded in a single breath.

"Sam couldn't hurt a spider!" Dean barked.

"Where are you getting this information?" John asked, incredulous.

Dell looked down at the papers in his lap. "From his police file. It's all right here."

"Where'd you get the file?"

"I had it sent over last week."

Dean and John exchanged disbelieving looks. "Well, it's not Sam's file. I can assure you." John huffed.

"Sam doesn't even have a police file!" Dean added, pissed.

"I'd .. I'd never hurt … mutilate ... an animal." Sam said in a small voice.

Dell looked at the two men and the boy sitting before him, all with shocked expressions on their faces, and decided they couldn't all be faking. Not this well.

"Well, I can assure you all, this is the file the local police viewed when deciding whether to send Sam to Medina or send him home."

Without another word, Dell picked up the phone that sat in the middle of the table and punched in a number.

"Bobby! You old scalawag. It's Dell. Hey, gotta quick word association game for you, you willing to play? Oh, and I have the Winchester clan here. I'm putting you on speaker. That cool?" Dell nodded and punched a button and suddenly the room was filled with the sound of Bobby's television set to the Lifetime Channel. Sam could hear Tori Spelling in the background.

"Okay, you ready? I'm going to say something, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind, got it?"

"I guess. Ain't like I got nothing better to do or anything." Bobby's exasperated voice sounded across the line.

"Sam Winchester likes to see animals in pain."

"Hell no!"

"Sam Winchester is prone to violence."

"Shit!"

"Sam Winchester has a mental illness that makes him want to hurt animals and people."

"Balls! Dell. Where the hell you getting this from? That ain't MY Sam Winchester!"

Sam smiled at that, wishing he could reach through the line and hug the old hunter.

Dell chuckled, "That seems to be the consensus. And you've know Sam how long, Bobby?"

"Only all his damned life!"

"Well, all right then, Bobby. I'll let you get back to your Lifetime Movie."

"Bite me, Dell!"

Dell disconnected the line, chuckling. "I love getting that old goat's goat."

He straightened up then, and stared hard at Sam. "So Sam, I'm going to take you on your word that somehow, the police have managed to connect you with someone else's file. I do have your word on that, right?"

"Well, can I see it first?"

Dell nodded, smiling. "Smart kid." He handed Sam the file and watched wordlessly as Dean moved his seat over so he could leaf through the file with his brother.

"I have no idea what's going on here, John," Dell offered suddenly. "But if the local police managed to arrest a thirteen-year-old, never Mirandize him, never question him and send him to the most violent facility in the whole of California at the request of someone who wasn't his legal guardian and because they retrieved the wrong file, I'm pretty sure you have a case."


	13. All Forgiven

John was revisiting Sam's case over an extended telephone conference with Bobby, and Dean was out, when Sam heard the knock on the front door.

He wasn't sure what his reaction should be when he recognized Leslie's silhouette on the other side of the curtain. He glanced back at his dad, but the older man was busy in a heated exchange, brows drawn together and lips pursed, and Sam really didn't want to draw his attention.

So he cautiously opened the door.

Leslie looked up from her study of the envelope she carried, face brightening in delight as her eyes fell on Sam. She rushed forward, pulling him into her arms for a tight hug.

"Thank God! I'm so sorry we just … just left you there, Sam. It wasn't intentional. You have to know that, right?"

"Uh, Dad's in the kitchen."

Her smile faded a bit, and she looked … disappointed … as though trying to pretend his cold tone didn't hurt. "Okay, Sam. Thanks. Is it okay if I go in, you think? I have good news."

Sam shrugged, not wanting to see the woman or be around her any more than necessary. He turned and led the way into the kitchen, stopping at the door and waiting for his father to notice them. When John looked up and saw Sam standing with Leslie at his side, his face paled. He hung up the phone without ever saying goodbye and addressed his son.

"Son, I think I hear Shallie upstairs, whining. Why don't you go check on him?"

Sam nodded gratefully and retreated to the steps, but not before he heard the fireworks begin.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" John growled. "You stay away from my son."

Leslie took a step back, her grin fading, "What?"

"You heard me. We know everything. Why are you here?"

Leslie studied the irate man before her. "John, I'm not sure what you think you know, but I assure you, I can explain anything you want to ask me."

Silence.

"Did you pose as Sam's legal guardian to the police?"

"What? No! Sam is your son. I'd never make that presumption unless we expressly discussed it!"

"And you didn't tell the cops you wanted Sam sent to Medina. Didn't mention the place specifically by name?"

Leslie gasped, "What!"

"Again, I think you heard me."

"John, I know all about Medina. I've written about the place numerous times. It's a hellhole. Kids get dropped in there and are never heard from again. Why the hell would I want to see Sam there?"

"You tell me."

"I can't! I have no clue what you're talking about. Why would you even think such a thing?"

John glared at the woman who stood before him. She was either a really gifted actress, or she was genuinely confused.

Sam's lawyer told us you posed as his legal guardian and had him fast-tracked to Medina.

Leslie's eyes filled with sudden tears. She looked away. "John." She struggled for words. "John … I would never …"

"Why would he lie, Leslie?" John barked, but his resolve was weakening. As far as he knew, Leslie had never been anything but kind to his sons.

She shook her head wordlessly, a single tear tipping off the edge of one lash and traveling down her pale cheek. "I have no idea." She whispered. "Does Sammy … " She cleared her throat. "Does he think that's what really happened? Because that would be just … horrible … thinking I hated him like that."

John studied her, not wanting to believe that the woman he still loved could be so cruel, yet knowing what Dell had told him. He sank into a kitchen chair. "Why are you here, Leslie?"

She turned wounded eyes to John and placed the large yellow envelope on the table. "I … uh … I got Sam's record expunged. A friend … he's a judge … owed me a favor. I had him look into what happened that night, and the police really … they really dropped the ball on this one. I don't know if you've heard or not, but they mixed Sam up with some 20-year-old serial killer. They connected his photo and social with a file belonging to a Samson Winchester. My friend was scandalized. Said it takes a whole lot of stupid to make the series of mistakes that happened to Sam. That whole precinct is officially under investigation now. They're going to pay for what they did to our ... to your boy, John. I just … I wanted you to know that. I didn't realize that you thought I … that I was the one … who caused all of this." She smiled sadly. "That's all I wanted, I swear. I'll go now." She turned and made her way to the door, stepped through, and was gone.

Upstairs, Sam sat on the landing, clutching Shallie to his chest and holding back tears. She'd been persuasive. Even Sam almost believed her. And the youngest Winchester knew that if even he'd been almost swayed, then his dad was definitely convinced.

"She won, Shallie." Sam mourned quietly into the small dog's fur. "Dad believes her. And if Dad believes her, Dean will too." Sam began rocking back and forth nervously, "Dean will too."

###

Dean stared at Sam over his pulled pork sandwich. "I don't know, Dad. I mean, I like Leslie and all, but why would Dell lie?" Dean didn't miss the way Sam's eyes dropped, defeated, to his plate. The younger boy seemed to shrug to himself, and Dean saw him look away.

"I might have an answer for that." John offered, moving to the counter to refill his coffee cup.

Both boys looked up.

"It could be that both Dell and Leslie are telling the truth."

Dean frowned, "Then it's the police who are lying?"

John shrugged, looking at Sam, "They did everything wrong from the start. Maybe they're embarrassed. Maybe they're afraid of losing retirement. Maybe it was only one person who screwed up and they're covering for him."

Dean looked skeptical, "What do you think, Sammy?"

Sam started, shaken from the absent examination of his sandwich. He shrugged. "Whatever you guys think."

Dean frowned, "It's your choice, Sam. You were the one who had to suffer through that place. I think it should be you who decides. Right, Dad?"

John smiled over at his youngest. "Dean's right, Sam. As much as I … I miss Leslie, if you no longer feel comfortable or safe around her, she'll never step foot back inside this house. He covered Sam's hand with his own in an uncharacteristic gesture of solidarity. "I promise, Sam."

Sam looked from his hand covered comfortingly in his father's own, to the older man's sad eyes and suddenly knew he couldn't be the one thing keeping John from the woman he cared so much about. He smiled.

"It's okay, Dad. If you and Dean believe her, then I believe her too."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not expecting Sam to cave so easily. "Sammy, you sure?" The concern was evident in his voice. He turned to his father. "Maybe we should think about it for a day or two? Give Sam a chance to change his mind?"

"No, it's okay, Dean. Go ahead and call her, Dad. I think you're right. I mean, she went to the trouble of getting my record cleared. Why would she do that if she was the one responsible for putting me in there in the first place?"

John nodded, "I had that thought too. She must have called in a lot of favors to pull something like that off. Are you sure about this, Sam? Do you want to think on it awhile?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It's fine. Go ahead." And he looked up just in time to see his father's eyes light up with anticipation as he flashed his son a brilliant grin. "Thanks, Sam. It will all work out in the end. You'll see." And he rose from the table and stepped out onto the porch to make the call.

Sam glanced over at Dean and froze. The older boy was staring at him like he was a bug pinned to a board - eyes narrowed and gaze steady.

"You're not convinced, are you, Sam?"

Sam smiled, swallowing hard. "Sure I am, Dean. Dad needs her. I think he … he loves her. Maybe it was all just a big misunderstanding."

"What if it wasn't?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe that, Dean. If we're going to believe her, we have to believe her all the way. Otherwise, we'll just make Dad miserable. You see how happy he's been. Dean, I've never, in my life, seen Dad as relaxed and … and content … as he is when she's around."

But Dean wasn't convinced so easily. "You're still more important, Sam. You're his son. She's just some woman he recently met and doesn't know all that well. Dad knows that."

Sam was going to reply, but John returned happily to the table to break the good news. "She's coming right over, boys. Sam, she sounded so happy, so relieved. Thank you, son, for believing in her. It meant a lot to her. I could tell."

Sam's smile at his father's happiness was genuine. And if he paled visibly at the news that Leslie was on the way over …

Well, probably Dean was the only one who noticed.


	14. Litter of Three

Leslie was back. And Dean became like the piece of gum stuck to his brother's shoe; unscrapable and stubbornly affixed.

So when Sam asked for a ride to the library three weeks later, Dean agreed. He had to finish changing out the oil in the Impala first, however, as he had just drained her dry.

That was the exact moment that Leslie stepped in and offered to drive Sam into town in her minivan. As the two came down the front steps, Leslie's arm around Sam's shoulder and Sam looking like a rabbit caught in a trap, Dean wrestled his way awkwardly up from the ground with a pained smile, and brushed the dust off his butt.

"Going into town?" He asked amiably, as though his heart hadn't suddenly dropped into his socks.

Sam answered, "Uh, yeah. Leslie heard me ask you for a ride so she, uh, volunteered."

Dean smiled, grimacing a bit as sore muscles rebelled. He addressed Leslie. "Mind if I tag along? I'm still a quart low."

She drew Sam closer, "We'd be happy to pick it up for you, Dean? Save you a trip?"

But Dean was already sliding carefully into the front passenger seat, relegating Sam to the back. "I could use a break, actually. Let's get ice cream."

Leslie snorted as she slid behind the wheel. "What are you, ten?" And Sam thought he would have found her funny if he wasn't basically terrified of the woman.

Dean grinned. "Ten, going on hungry."

Sam played along, trying to make the impossible seem normal. "Dean, you just ate half a watermelon. No way you can still be hungry."

"Wrong again, little bro."

"Well, we could stop off for pizza too?" Leslie suggested, playing the mom card.

But Dean didn't ante, 'Nah, not that hungry. Just ice cream hungry."

"Actually, that's perfect because the Big Dipper is right next to Barlow's Pet Shop, and Shallie needs a few things." Leslie commented, causing Sam to frown.

"What kinds of things?"

She smiled at him in the mirror. "I thought maybe a collar and a name tag with your phone number on it, Sam. In case he ever wanders off. Also, there's something there I want you to see."

"Oh." Sam said, "Okay."

And when they'd finished at the library and after Dean had picked up a second case of oil that he didn't really need, Leslie led them all into Barlow's Pet Supplies and straight to a little dog that was Shallie's twin.

Sam fell in love on sight. He knelt over the top of the open pen and reached for the small, energetic animal, raising it to his chest and cradling it happily. "It looks just like Shallie!"

Leslie chuckled. "I know! Shallie was one of a litter of three. This little girl is the only one still here." She rubbed the little dog's scruff.

"Look Dean! It's Shallie, the sequel!" Sam giggled as the little dog swiped his chin with its tongue.

Dean had to smile too. Sam and puppies were just too much precious together in one room.

"Aw. I want her, Dean! You think Dad …?"

"No, Sam. No way Dad is gonna go for two dogs."

"Aw. But she likes me! Look!" And sure enough, the little ball of fluff had snuggled up under Sam's chin like she belonged there. At Sam's words, she turned adoring eyes in Dean's direction.

"Good grief, Sam. You're already teaching her the puppy eyes." Dean shook his head. "Can this get anymore precious, I ask you?"

Sam giggled again. "She's a loving little thing."

The pet store owner drew near with a smile. "I think she likes you, son."

"Sam nodded. "I know! I like her too."

"Well, she's available. I know she'd love to go home with you."

Sam looked pleadingly at Dean, who rolled his eyes. "No, Sam. You've met Dad, right?"

The younger boy suddenly nodded, looking bereft. He gave the little dog a final scratch and set her back inside the pen where she promptly began whining.

Leslie patted him on the back. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just wanted you to see Shallie's sister. I didn't mean to make you sad. Hey, let's get that name tag, okay?"

Sam nodded, stepping away to follow Leslie.

Dean had wandered off to look through the rows of fish tanks that lined the back wall, wondering if the pet store carried piranhas because he'd always wanted to see one, when a pained yelp filled the store. He looked up to see Sam standing next to the puppy pen where Shallie's sister stood on three legs, favoring the fourth.

"What happened?" Leslie asked, moving over from the other side of the pen. "Sam? What'd you do?"

Sam looked up, startled, "Hunh?"

The pet shop owner hurried over, looking angry. "What do you mean? Did he hurt the dog?" He eyed Sam. "Did you, son?"

Sam blushed furiously. "What? No! I was looking at the collars, and she just yelped."

"But Sam!" Leslie interrogated. "Why is she holding up a paw?"

The store owner leaned over and picked her up. He touched her paw gently, and she yelped again. He turned furious eyes on Sam. "What did you do?" He growled.

Sam took a step back, shaking his head. "No, really! I didn't do anything. I was looking at the collars. My back was to the pen. I didn't see what happened! I swear!"

Dean moved forward then, noting Leslie's position next to the pen on the other end. "Sam, when you turned around, where was the dog?" He asked pointedly.

"She … she was limping toward me from … from over there." He gestured toward Leslie.

"Over there? Over by Leslie?" He specified, getting his point across.

Sam nodded.

Leslie breezed into action. She turned to the store owner. "I'm so sorry. We'll go now."

Dean frowned. "Why are you sorry? Sam said he didn't do anything?"

"Oh! I know. I … just. I think we should go now." She shot apologetic eyes to the man who still held the puppy.

The store owner glanced from one to the other of them. "I think that's a good idea. And don't be coming back anytime soon either." He directed his words to Sam, clearly convinced the younger boy was lying.

Sam swallowed hard and backed away, blushing furiously. He turned and practically ran out the door.

Dean stood still, awash in sudden fury. It was obvious to him what had happened. He turned defiant eyes on Leslie. "After you." He barked, refusing to give her a moment alone to tell the store owner more lies.

Leslie suddenly nailed him with a look of utter hatred before turning and slapping her way through the front door so hard that the glass vibrated.

Dean followed at a more controlled pace, trying to keep his anger in check. He slid into the front seat silently, glancing back once at Sam, looking miserable. Then he turned steely eyes on the woman who sat behind the wheel. She sat tense and angry, her jaw pushed forward, eyes slanted. She wordlessly keyed the ignition and drove toward home. When they arrived, Leslie dropped them wordlessly off and peeled away, angry wheels churning up a column of dust behind her.


	15. Pain in the Night

Dean awoke in a world of pain. Yesterday's PT session, coupled with changing out the oil in the Impala the same day, had taken their toll. Dean was pretty sure there wasn't a bone or muscle inside his body that wasn't on fire. Moving was agony, but it was either get up and walk the five steps to the bathroom or wet the bed like he was two again. Anyway, a hot shower would help alleviate some of the stiffness - that and some strong painkillers.

He turned his head painfully to the side. In the dim light of predawn, he could see Sam sleeping peacefully in the other bed, Shallie curled up at his side.

"Sammy." Dean croaked, cursing the empty water bottle next to his bed. "Hey, Sam. You awake?"

Dean saw Shallie's head pop up. The pup looked over.

"Sammy!" Dean tried again, louder.

Sam didn't stir, but Shallie whined softly. He rose on the bed, assumed a dog-facing-forward yoga pose, and jumped down. He padded over to Dean and licked the older boy's hand, whining again.

"Get Sam, boy. Shallie, can you get Sam?"

Shallie turned instantly and jumped back up on Sam's bed where he began swiping his tongue over the younger boy's face. Sam giggled in his sleep."StoppitShallie." He slurred, smiling.

"Sam! Wake up! I need help!" Dean called out, using his regular, albeit pain-filled, voice.

Sam's eyes popped open instantly. He corralled long limbs into propping his body up in the bed and looked over at his brother.

"Dean?"

"I … I need your help, Sam."

Sam was up and across the room in seconds, his voice shaking. "What's wrong? Should I go get Dad?"

"No, nothing like that. I just … I gotta pee, and I hurt too much to get going."

"Dean, you scared me." Sam admitted, as he crouched beside the bed and placed his brother's arm over his shoulder. "Careful. You okay?" He asked as he pulled slowly to get his brother's stiff body into a sitting position.

Dean groaned. "Fudge, Sammy! Fudgety fudge fudge! That hurts!"

Sam's eyes teared in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Dean. Come on, we gotta get you moving. It will help loosen you up. He used his free hand to help Dean maneuver his legs over the side of the bed. Dean winced when they hit the floor.

"Even my damned feet feel like they're full of needles." Dean whined.

"I'm sorry. Come on. The sooner you get moving, the sooner you can pee. Then I'll get you some pain meds." Sam lifted his brother on three, and the two stood swaying together while the circulation came back into Dean's legs.

"Can you reach your cane?"

Dean glanced over and nodded. He reached a shaking hand out and secured the hated cane that was so necessary these days. Using that on one side and his brother on the other, Dean made it to the bathroom. He took his arm from around Sam's neck and braced himself in the door jamb. "Okay, I got it from here. Thanks."

Sam frowned. "How? Dean, you can barely move."

Dean grinned, "Well you sure as hell ain't holding it for me, Sam. Day that happens is the day I just shoot myself."

Sam snorted. "Gross, Dean."

Dean chuckled. "Hey, stay close though, okay? Maybe you can get the shower started in a few?"

Sam nodded. "I'll go get you some pain meds and a water bottle."

When the older boy emerged a few moments later, Sam was waiting. He helped Dean take two of the prescription pain pills and down them with a long drink of water. Then he left Dean propped on his cane while he got the shower running and adjusted the temperature of the water. He helped his brother wrestle his t-shirt over his head, and then he stepped back as Dean closed the door, separating them. He stood listening.

"I can hear you listening, Dork. Go back to bed. I'm fine."

Sam smiled, but he didn't go back to bed. Instead he padded downstairs and tossed together a quick breakfast of cereal, fruit and coffee. He piled the items on a tray and brought them back upstairs. He set the tv stand up by the side of his brother's bed and placed the tray on it. When Dean stepped out of the bathroom a few moments later, chased by billows of steam, his breakfast was waiting for him while Sam sat propped up on the other bed, reading.

Dean smiled, sitting gingerly down on his bed and eyeing the tray.

"What's all this, Samantha?"

"Gotta eat something with those pills, or you'll throw them back up."

"Thanks." Dean said gruffly, moved. He took sip of the hot coffee that was strong and black - hunter's coffee - just the way he and Dad had always drank it. "Did you eat already?"

Sam shook his head, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Too early. I'll hurl."

Dean picked up the orange and began peeling it. "Come on. You want the orange? You know you love 'em."

Sam looked over, interested, as the delightful scent of citrus filled the air. "Maybe just a section or two."

Dean finished peeling, split the fruit in half and tossed half to his brother, shoving the whole other half into his mouth all at once.

Sam grimaced, pulling his half apart into manageable pieces, "That's so gross, Dean. You're gonna choke. I draw the line at giving you mouth-to-mouth, jerk."

Dean snorted and mumbled something unintelligible that Sam assumed was his brother calling him a bitch. He smiled, waiting patiently for the older boy to finish the food.

"You ready?" He asked, after Dean had pushed the stand away and lay back on his bed.

Dean groaned. "So not ready."

"Come on. You know we have to. Let's do it now before you get all cranked up on the pills."

Dean looked over sharply. "I do not!"

Sam moved over to his brother's bed, took the older boy's leg and began flexing it gently. "You know you do. Those things make you downright mean. And I want to be far away when they finally kick in. So we need to get your exercises over with now, before you decide that kicking me in the face sounds like a good idea." Sam chuckled.

But Dean wasn't laughing. He suddenly looked sober. "Do I really do that? I'm sorry, Sam. I don't mean it."

Sam looked up, startled, and saw genuine sadness in his brother's eyes. "Nah, man. I'm just kidding. You're not that bad. And what's one little kick in the face anyway?"

Dean snorted. He lay back, arms crossed behind his head and let Sam take over. He'd never admit it, but Sam had magic hands when it came to rubbing the soreness out of his limbs. The pain medication, coupled with the hot shower, filling breakfast, and Sam's gentle ministrations began kicking in. He drifted, pain forgotten.

When he woke again, it was early afternoon. The sun stubbornly slipped in around the edges of the blind that Sam had thoughtfully left closed, and the younger boy and the dog were nowhere to be seen. Sam's bed was neatly made, Dean's tray gone, and a fresh, cold bottle of water rested on his nightstand.

Dean was inexplicably irritated.

The older boy moved easily out of bed, leaving it unmade, pulled on a pair of sweats, and padded slowly downstairs. The house was too quiet. He stepped out onto the porch.

Sam and Shallie wrestled on the front lawn, and the younger boy's laughter echoed across the porch. Dean smiled, and settled down on the steps to watch. "Where's Dad?" He called.

"Town. Had some stuff to do." Sam called back, pausing in his play. "How you feeling?"

Dean flashed a thumbs up and took a swig of the beer he'd snagged from the fridge on the way out.

Sam frowned, walking over. "I left you a water bottle." He said accusingly, sitting down beside his brother. "You shouldn't drink that after taking the prescription stuff."

Dean shrugged, "Back off, Mom. Dean's a big boy now."

"You could end up in a coma, you know."

"Yeah? Well, you gotta go some way."

Sam decided to let it go. "It's a nice day. Feel up to a walk or anything? We could toss the Frisbee around."

Dean considered the offer, but then realized it didn't really sound all that appealing. "Nah. I'm good here."

Sam stood up. "Okay then. Me and Shallie are gonna play."

The wave of irritation passed through Dean again, bringing an edge to his voice. "Uh, shouldn't you be training?" He said coldly.

Sam paused. "No, I did all that while you were sleeping." He winced, realizing how it sounded after it was too late to take it back.

Dean was instantly pissed, 'Oh, so you think I was slacking off?"

Sam sighed, "Come on, Dean. That's not what I meant. I just meant that I did my training today already, okay? I wanna play with Shall. He needs the exercise."

Dean took another swig. "Like me, you mean?"

"Hunh?"

"You little shit. I could still take you, you know."

Sam looked away, trying to hide the hurt in his eyes. "I know."

"Good." Dean barked. "Remember that. Now give me twenty."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, come on! I did my exercises already, man. I'm not lying."

"Give me twenty, Sam, or I'm gonna tell Dad you've been slacking.

Sam's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "But I haven't! And even if I was, how would you know? You've been asleep all day!" He was angry.

Dean shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way."

Sam stared at him angrily. He looked down at the little dog that stood waiting patiently by his feet and sighed. He crouched down and scratched her neck. "Sorry Shal. We'll play later, okay?" The puppy whined once, wagging its tail. But when he realized Sam wasn't going to play anymore, he padded over and curled up between Dean's feet, settling down with a happy sigh.

"Traitor." Sam said, swiping at his eyes. But he got down in the grass and began pumping out push-ups.

Dean felt a niggle of guilt right then, but he took a swig of the beer to wash it down.

"There. Happy now?" Sam stood up, dusting off his hands.

"Three laps around the house."

"What!"

"You heard me."

"Dean, I already did five today!"

"Yeah? Well now you get to do three more."

Sam crossed his arms, stubbornly. "What if I don't?"

"I can make you, you know." Dean set the bottle down and made to stand. His right knee wobbled, and he almost lost his balance. He grabbed at the railing to recover. His face tinged pink.

Sam turned wordlessly and jogged away, giving his brother time to recover in privacy. Shallie jumped up and took off, nipping at his heels.

Dean sat back down, feeling like a class-A shit. Sam had been nothing but good to him this morning, and here he was, taking out his irritability on the last person who deserved it. Dean heard Sam squeal loudly from behind the house and frowned. But then the boy rounded the corner, little dog keeping pace, and Dean understood. Shallie moved in and took a nibble at Sam's sweats, making him squeal again, and the boy dropped to the ground, giggling, the little dog all over him.


	16. Nightmare Revisited

Sam plopped down at the dinner table, studiously avoiding looking at his brother. Dean had been a dick all day, and Sam couldn't help but be pissed at him. He knew it was just a side effect of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, but trying to stay out of his brother's line of fire was depleting. Even Dad hadn't escaped without getting hit. When the elder Winchester had returned from town without pie, Dean had launched into a 30-minute tirade.

John had just looked him up and down and commented calmly, "Rough day, son?"

It was finally dinnertime, and Dean was almost back to his old self. Sam could tell he felt guilty, and the younger boy couldn't help but feel vindicated. He'd gotten no time to himself at all today, and he'd really wanted to spend the day working with Shallie. Without realizing it, he sighed dejectedly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean look up sheepishly.

"Hey, uh, Sammy?"

"What now, Dean?" Sam barked, "Does the car need washed? I mean, it is only 8 o'clock at night."

Dean stared. "No. I'm just … you know. I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head, feeling guilty, "Never mind. I know you can't help it."

John played peacemaker. "Well, maybe we need to call the doc and see about getting you a different prescription, Dean. Sure would make all our lives a lot easier. Sam? I made one of your favorites." He gestured to the wok filled with stir-fried vegetables and chicken.

Sam's eyes lit up. "Dad! That looks amazing! Where'd you learn to do that? And since when do we own a wok?"

John smiled, serving up his creation proudly. "It's Leslie's. She gave me the recipe and let me borrow her pan. Now let's just hope I didn't screw it up too badly."

Dean looked up at the mention of the woman's name. Neither he nor Sam had shared the pet store incident with their father. "Where is Leslie, by the way? Haven't seen her in days." He glanced, unimpressed, at the pile of healthy foods that suddenly littered his plate.

"On assignment. She'll be back around the end of the week."

"Man! I'm starving! Somebody kept me too busy to eat anything since breakfast." Sam tossed out meanly.

Dean blushed. "I said I was sorry, Sam. Cut the theatrics already."

Sam smiled as his plate filled with steaming stir fry. He picked up his fork to take the first bite when he noticed Dean reaching for his cane. John had already sat down and begun eating, and Sam was closest to the fridge. He rose.

"Sit still. I'll get it." He sighed, "Dad, you want a beer too while I'm up?"

John nodded. "Thanks, son."

Dean accepted the beer with guilty eyes. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam flashed his dimples in an "all's forgiven" gesture and settled back down just as the knock sounded at the door.

John and Dean exchanged amused glances. "Well, you are closest to the door, Sammy." Dean gloated.

Sam sighed exaggeratedly again, and dropped his fork with a clatter. He stomped into the living room and threw open the door.

Two officers stood there, looking deadly.

"Are you Samson Winchester?"

Sam's eyes widened, and he began backing away in fear. "No! It's Samuel. Samuel! Not Samson!"

"Sam Winchester, we have a warrant for your arrest." The female officer grabbed him roughly and pushed him face-first into the door. She cuffed his hands tightly behind his back. "You have the right to remain silent …" She began.

In the kitchen, the two older Winchesters heard voices, but they couldn't make out who was at the door. Dean had just cracked a joke about eating Sam's food while he was gone when they heard a huge crash and shouting.

When they pushed into the living room, the sight that greeted them was terrifying. Sam was on his stomach on the floor, a large man in uniform straddling his prone and hysterical figure. Sam's legs cycled frantically in an effort to get away. Even worse, a female officer stood with her gun pointed directly at Shallie as the little dog bared her teeth in defense of her master.

"Don't shoot him!" Sam screamed, hysterically. "Don't shoot! He's just scared!"

John moved lightening fast, placing himself between the dog and the officer's weapon. He swooped down and scooped up the frightened animal, holding him fast. "It's okay." He assured her, soothingly. "I've got him. I won't let him bite anyone."

Dean's eyes were fixed on his brother, flat on the floor with a grown man sitting atop him. As he moved forward to intervene, the officer pulled Sam roughly to his feet, and Dean could see his brother's hands were once again in cuffs.

"What the hell!" Dean raged. "What's going on?"

"He's resisting arrest." The male officer charged.

John stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on his youngest boy's shoulder. "Calm down, son. It's going to be fine. Just try to relax, okay?"

"They called me Samson! They were gonna shoot Shallie!" Sam practically screamed, hyperventilating.

Dean moved in close. He placed his hands on either side of Sam's face and spoke gently. "Sammy, calm down. Dad and I are here, okay? We're not going to let it happen again. You're safe, Sammy. Just breathe, okay? You gotta breathe, Sam." Sam nodded, eyes wild.

John explained. "He's not resisting. He was just frightened for the dog. Isn't that right, Sam? You weren't resisting, right?"

Sam shook his head. "Shallie!" He cried, tears running in rivulets down his face.

"Shh. Sam. Shallie's fine." Dean reassured the terrified boy. "Dad has him. Nobody is going to shoot him."

"Now suppose you tell me what's going on here?" John demanded calmly. "What crime are you charging my minor son with?"

"That's crimes in the plural, sir." The female officer spoke up. We're taking him in on suspicion of animal cruelty in the commission of a hate crime and for committing an act of terror."

John shook his head. "I thought we cleared all this up. You have the wrong file. My son's name is Samuel, not Samson. He'd never hurt an animal in his life, and he doesn't hate anyone."

She shrugged. "You'll have the opportunity to explain your side of things, Mr. Winchester, but for now, we're taking him in. As his parent, you can ride with him if you want."

John exchanged a heated glance with Dean before grabbing his jacket. "Dean, call Dell right away. Tell him what's going on. Tell him we need him down at the precinct ASAP."

Dean nodded, face pale. "Dad! This can't happen again!"

John nodded, "I know, son. It won't. Don't worry. We have Dell this time around, and I'm not leaving your brother's side." He passed the little dog to his oldest son and nodded to the police woman. "You're making a mistake, but nobody here is resisting you. I want that duly noted."


	17. Devastation

_Warning: Animal Cruelty_

Sam, John and Dell sat together in an interview room, Sam cuffed to the table.

"What's going on, Dell?" John asked dangerously. "Didn't these fools learn their lesson the last time?"

Dell sighed. "Here's the deal, John." He turned to Sam. "Sam, you stand accused of hurting the dog you visited in the pet shop the other day. Do you remember?"

Sam blinked, "The one that looks like Shallie."

Dell nodded. "The animal was found hanging by its neck in the doorway of the gun store where you were arrested last week. Someone had used its blood to write a racial slur on the window glass."

Sam paled, "Is she okay?"

Dell stared, "Sam? You do realize this is considered an act of terror as well as a hate crime? I think we have bigger things to worry about than whether the dog survived."

Sam's eyes watered, "Did she?"

Dell nodded, "She's being treated at the local animal hospital. Word is she'll pull through."

"Why an act of terror?" John questioned. "Can he be charged with both for one crime?"

Dell sighed, "Because the perpetrator left behind a duffle bag filled with an explosive mix of rock salt and chemicals. When the owner cut the dog down, the bomb went off. It took out half the store."

"Was the owner hurt?"

"He's alive, but it could go either way."

John shook his head, "Why do they think Sam did this? And when? He's been home all day."

"They have an eyewitness."

Sam blinked, 'What?"

Dell nodded. "The son of the local police chief says he saw Sam injure the dog, string it up in the doorway and rig the bag. And the owner of the pet store says he all but saw Sam hurt the same dog a few days earlier."

"The son of the police chief we're currently embroiled in a civil suit against his department with? That chief of police?" John asked incredulously, ignoring the part about the pet store.

Dell nodded. "It sounds like a set up, but I'll tell you, John, it's the terrorism that has people up in arms. Nobody is going to let this go. We have a fight on our hands."

"So what happens now?" Sam asked, his voice quiet.

"Now, we bail you out and start building our case."

"How much?" John asked, dreading the answer.

"Half a million dollars."

John stared.

"We only need 10 percent of that." Dell amended.

"So $50 grand? Where am I going to get $50 grand? What if I can't get it?"

Dell looked away, "Then Sam goes to jail."

Sam started to hyperventilate. "To Medina?"

Dell studied the boy, 'I'll do my damnedest Sam. That's all I can promise."

Sam locked eyes with his dad, knowing there was no way in hell that fifty thousand dollars was coming their way anytime soon.

"When will we know where they're sending him?"

"His hearing's tomorrow. That's when his bail will officially be set, but there's no way it's going to be any less. Not for an act of terror. That's when we'll see where he goes. It's completely up to the judge."

"What about tonight?"

"Unless you have the money right now, Sam will spend the night here in one of the cells."

"He's a minor. I can stay with him, right?"

Dell shook his head. "No, John. Not in the cell."

Sam felt panic finally begin to set in. "Dad!" He pleaded, knowing there was nothing his father could do to save him.

John reached across the table and pulled Sam into a strong hug. "It's going to be okay, son. I promise you. You might have to be strong for us for just a little while, but it's going to be okay. You'll see."

Dell cleared his throat. "John, Sam, there's one other thing."

John's eyes closed, he wasn't sure he could handle more bad news. "What is it?"

"They plan to try Sam as an adult."

John stared, "Meaning?"

"Meaning, if the store owner dies, and he's found guilty …"

"What?"

"California still has the death penalty, John."

"He's thirteen."

"So he'll live on death row for three years. When he's 16 …"

"Lethal injection." Sam whispered, and checked out.


	18. Guilt

Dean paced. He paced and washed up the dishes and fed and watered the dog and paced some more, waiting for John to return home with Sam in tow.

At the thought of his brother, Dean's eyes drifted to the kitchen table where Sam's plate still sat, covered securely in plastic wrap. If they didn't get back soon, Dean was going to have to stick it in the fridge, and Sam hated leftovers that had to be reheated.

And the poor kid had been starving when they'd dragged him away.

And that was Dean's fault too. It beat a staccato inside his head - _SammyshungrySammysscared_ \- afraid for his pup and for his life. And while the younger boy hadn't said anything, Dean knew he'd finally figured out what that asshole in Medina was telling him.

Sam was no fool. He knew how to use the Internet, however new it was.

So he was no doubt afraid that could happen too. But Dean couldn't go there, wouldn't let his mind take him on that journey to that shower and to that other kid … Sammy … vulnerable like that … and there had been two of them. Sam, locked away in a prison with no big brother to lean on, to look out for him. If Dean had been there, no way that asshole would have laid a finger on his baby brother.

Dean would have killed the kid first. Killed him and his asshole friends. And maybe he'd be in trouble, but at least Sam would be safe. He'd be safe and every troublemaker in the place would have known not to mess with Sam Winchester again.

 _SammysafeSammysafeSammysafe_ … It was all that mattered really.

Sam should be home. He didn't belong in a cell. A kid like Sam? A cell would be the death of him. Dean knew the younger boy wasn't exaggerating when he'd told Dean he'd go crazy in a place like that. Sam liked to trust people. He liked to hear what they had to say. He wanted to learn from them and grow and expand his knowledge.

But there was nothing his kid brother needed to know that anyone in Medina could teach him.

Sam would stagnate in there. He'd … he'd drown. Sam hated taking orders - clashed heads with Dad nearly every day over taking orders. Dean knew he'd only last so long living at someone else's beck and call. Sam couldn't do things on a tight schedule. He couldn't eat at the exact same time everyday, or use the bathroom at that exact same time, or even shower at the exact same time.

Sam needed leeway. He needed variation. Sometimes he got lost in a book and missed mealtime altogether. Sometimes, he took his shower first thing in the morning - other days he was too excited to get up and get started on some project, like training his dog or helping Dean work on the car - to remember. On those days, he'd shower just before falling into bed at night.

Sam needed that option - that … that difference - it kept him sane.

 _SammyshungrySammysscared …_

Dean wanted to cry.

He thought back to breakfast and the muscle rub and the kind and gentle way his little brother had about him. Dean had woken up miserable and in agony, but in just a short amount of time, Sam had made it all better.

Because Sam was a giver. He didn't trust many people, but those who were fortunate enough to qualify reaped generous benefits.

And making things better was Dean's job anyway, not Sam's. Sam's job was to be a thirteen-year-old kid and play with his damned dog and do his homework.

But Dean had taken that away from him this day. All Sam wanted was to play - to play like the kid he was quickly outgrowing. Sam was thirteen now. There wouldn't be many more days where he wanted to run and chase and be chased - to feel the wind in his face and a puppy nipping at his heels. Soon it would be all grown up responsibility.

And Sam might still want to play, but he'd know he couldn't. Not like he'd wanted to today.

And Dean had taken that right away from him.

The older boy cursed.

And he tried not to think about _Sammyinhandcuffs_ , sitting in some cold police station, subjected to real criminals.

 _SammyshungrySammysscared ..._

Sam was as far from a criminal as night was from day. He didn't deserve this, not any of it. And Dean wanted, no - needed - to protect his little brother from days like these.

He just felt so damned helpless.

And then he heard Dell's truck pull up outside, and heard voices and two car doors closing. A huge grin split his face as he rushed the door.

John entered first, followed by Dell, and then … nothing.

Dean's eyes widened in fear, "Where's Sam?"

John stared at Dean sadly, "He's not with us, son."

Dean stood still, heart beating painfully in his chest. "Dad … you didn't … you didn't leave him? Not again? You promised him!"

John shook his head, "There was nothing I could do tonight, Dean. We can't do anything else until morning."

"Sam's hearing is tomorrow." Dell clarified. "They'll keep him at the station tonight. Tomorrow, they'll decide where to transfer him."

Dean's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean, they'll decide where to transfer him. We're getting him out! Now! Dad, tell him!"

But John fell wearily into a kitchen chair and rested his forehead in his hands. "Do you have $50 grand, Dean? Cause I don't have anything smaller than a million."

Dean stared, "You think this is funny, Dad? Funny? Do you know what could be happening to Sam right now? Right fucking now!"

John looked up then, sheer misery in his eyes. "You think I don't? Hunh? You think I don't remember that kid in Medina? You think I'm not fucking terrified? Your brother could die! He could fucking die over this shitstorm!"

"John!" Dell chastised. "Let it go."

But Dean had heard too much. He sank, boneless, into the chair across from his father. "What's that mean, Sam could die?"

John shook his head, remaining silent.

"Dell? What does that fucking mean?"

"There's an eyewitness who swears they saw Sam plant a bomb. It went off, and the man could die. If he dies, Sam will be charged with murder - a capital offense in California." Dell explained.

"So what's that mean? Capital offense? Prison?"

Dell studied the boy sadly. "No, Dean. Not prison."

"Well what then? What's worse than prison?"

Dell looked to John for permission, but the eldest Winchester was lost in his own misery.

"It means Sam could … could get the death penalty, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean blinked. "He's a kid."

"In California, kids can be sentenced to death too. The minimum age is 16."

"Well then Sam's safe, right?"

Dell shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Dean. They can't … can't put someone to death until they're at least 16, but younger kids can be bound over."

"And?"

"It means Sam could spend three years on Death Row and then receive the … the lethal injection."

 _SammysscaredSammysdying … aneedleinhisarm … Sammysheartstopping ..._

Dean stared. Then he snorted. Sammy on death row. Their Sammy. It was a fucking joke. Had to be.

John exploded from his chair. "Why are we allowing this to happen? Why am I allowing it? I'm done putting my son's life in other people's hands. This stops tonight."

Dell suddenly looked concerned. "What are you planning, John?"

But John was already on the phone. "Hey Deacon. John Winchester. I'm calling in that chip."


	19. The Hearing

Sam shuffled along behind the guard, his leg irons make his gait unusually graceless. He felt small. The man who led him in through a side door of the courtroom was huge - well over 6-feet tall and muscled all over. In fact, everyone Sam had encountered in the last 24 hours had seemed disproportionately big and intimidating, from the cops who'd manhandled him roughly to his shared cell once his father had left, to his gargantuan cell-mate who'd beat him senseless because he'd wanted Sam's hoodie.

In the end, it hadn't mattered anyway. Everyone had just ignored his screams until he'd stopped. The cellmate had the hoodie, and Sam had spent the night naked from the waist up, shivering, beaten and wanting to die. In the morning, they'd dressed him in the official uniform of the county lock-up - the essential orange jumpsuit with the Orange County patch on the front and "Department of Corrections" emblazoned across the back. They'd had trouble finding one small enough to fit him, and had eventually brought him one from the women's closet, setting his cellmate off on a bout of hysterical laughter and comments about Sam's sexuality.

Sam felt numb. He shuffled into a packed courtroom so stuffed with onlookers that the walls along the sides and back were lined with people standing. It was a crowd of mixed races, and they hurled profanity at Sam as he entered, convinced it had been him who'd penned the racial slur on the glass window of the gun store in the poor dog's blood. And he didn't blame them really; he understood how they felt. Whoever had written that deserved to be publicly castigated. He just wished he wasn't the one in the spotlight. A cup of something that smelled like urine hit his shoulder and ran in rivulets down the front and sides of his jumpsuit, and he heard Dean's voice above the rest, threatening, angry.

Sam didn't even wince. Numb felt good. None of it mattered anyway. The only thing that mattered was that he was going back to Medina. He was going back to Medina where they'd do whatever they wanted with his body for three years until he was old enough that they could legally kill him.

Only now they thought he was racist as well.

Sam had come to terms with it last night, as he was being beaten and groped by his cellmate.

This was his life now. Better to accept it than to hold out false hope for a rescue that wasn't coming.

The guard led him to his table where Dell waited, a look of shock on his face at Sam's condition. He asked Sam something, but Sam couldn't hear him over the din in the courtroom. A hand reached for him, and he followed it up to find Dean on the other end. Dean and his dad were standing at the seats directly behind the table, separated from Sam by a waist-high wooden railing. Dean looked like he wanted to murder someone. He gripped Sam by both arms and tried to pull him in close for a hug, but Sam pulled back, not wanting to cover Dean's clothes in the urine that coated his own. Dean was studying his battered face and asking him something angrily, but Sam's ears were still ringing from the beating he'd taken in the night. He shook his head silently and lowered his eyes to the floor, just wanting to get to the last page of the chapter.

He already knew the ending.

Sam rose when Dell prompted him to, and he sat when the older man placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. In the interim, Dell tried to talk to him, but Sam was beyond understanding or caring. His terror was so great that it overrode every other emotion. It felt like it had settled in the center of his throat and was slowly choking him to death.

Mostly, he just sat and stared at the floor.

Finally, Dell motioned for him to stand again, and the older man rose to stand with him. Sam faced a judge he couldn't hear but on whose face lurked disgust and hatred for the charges Sam had been saddled with. He saw the judge's lips moving and heard the gavel come down. The courtroom burst into cheers and Sam looked at Dell questioningly.

The look on the man's face said it all. Sam asked the only question that mattered.

"Medina?"

Dell nodded, looking down at the table.

Sam glanced up then, searching for Dean, and found the older boy with tears streaming down his face. Sam felt bad for him. He tried then to smile, to give his brother something to hold onto when Sam couldn't even find that crutch for himself.

Dell was speaking again, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder to get his attention, but the mountainous guard was back at Sam's side. He spun him around roughly and yanked painfully on the chain that connected his wrist cuffs, causing Sam to yelp. He heard a ruckus behind him then, and suddenly Dean was there, placing himself between Sam and the guard. He gathered Sam up in an embrace that was both strong and reassuring, mindless of the foul liquid that covered the younger boy and of the stench of blood and fear that emanated off him.

Sam thought he heard the words "I got you" before Dean was yanked away and dragged back down the aisle to the exit, and he smiled.

He knew it wasn't true anymore, but it still felt good to hear.


	20. Bus Ride to Medina

Sam stumbled his way to the transport bus. There were twenty-three other prisoners headed for Medina with him, and three had already promised him an interesting bus ride. The fourth had given him a detailed rundown of what was going to occur the first time he got Sam alone. He used words the thirteen-year-old had never heard before. And that was something, considering Sam's big brother was Dean Winchester.

And they weren't all kids. Sam was pretty sure the fourth guy was at least his father's age.

As Sam stood in line, awaiting his chance to board, the three who'd threatened him earlier suddenly cut the line in front of and behind him. Sam searched for the guard who was supposed to be controlling the line, but there was no one in sight. The three boys crowded Sam up against the side of the bus in full view of everyone else, but no one moved to help the younger boy.

A kid who looked to be about 18 pushed his body up against Sam's and rubbed hard against him. He pushed Sam's head to the side and nuzzled his neck, making promises of things to come.

It all stopped though when a burly guard stepped up and brought his club down across the back of the boy's head. The kid fell to the ground wailing, holding his head in both hands as the other two scurried back into the line. Sam closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow he knew was coming, but opened them again when a familiar voice asked the kid if he needed another lesson in self-control. The kid just shook his head and dragged himself to his feet, shuffling away.

Sam stood there in shock until the guard coldly told him to "Get back in line, you idjit." And shot him a wink. Bobby grasped him roughly by the arm and shoved him back into line so hard he almost fell down, causing the boys around him to chuckle.

"Am I going to have a problem here?" Bobby growled in a voice so deadly it even scared Sam. He advanced on the boy who'd laughed the loudest and tapped his club menacingly against his leg. "Well?"

The boy backed off, 'Uh, uhn, Esai. No problem here."

"That's what I thought."

"You. Troublemaker." He addressed Sam, grasping him roughly by the arm. "End of the line."

Sam played along, 'But I didn't …"

"Shut up. Nobody wants to hear you cry. Move."

Sam shuffled to the end of the line, Bobby moving with him. He stood beside the boy as the line advanced. When Sam stepped onto the bus, Bobby directed him to the second seat and cuffed him in without a seatmate. The old hunter pulled the gate across, locked it, and took the seat directly in front of him, sitting sideways so he had a clear view of everything going on in the bus behind him.

The boy who'd pawed Sam spoke up, addressing his words to Bobby. "Yo, Gramps, you stakin' a claim on the new girl? That's fresh meat, yo? You gonna share, yeah?"

Sam turned pink and wondered how his life could get any worse. He stared dejectedly out the window as Bobby ignored the remark.

The boy laughed, "Yeah, you stakin' a claim. You let us know how she tastes, hunh? Maybe we all get a sample when you tired. You old. Shouldn't take long, yeah?"

"Am I gonna have to shoot you?" Bobby asked, dead serious, and pulling a gun from beneath his shirt.

The boy's eyes went huge. "Yo driver! He got a gun, man! Y'all ain't supposed to have guns on here. We kids! Yo driver!"

Rufus met Bobby's eyes in the rear view. "You want me to hold him down?"

"Man! That's shit, y'all! Y'all can't come on here waving a piece around. We got rights!"

"You want the right to keep breathin', you'd best shut yer yap." Bobby advised.

And to Sam's surprise, the kid did.


	21. Processed

The bus stopped inside the gate, and Rufus opened the door. He moved to the back of the bus to begin unshackling prisoners, while Bobby skipped over Sam and moved to the next boy in line.

When all the boys were off the bus, Bobby turned to Sam, opening his mouth to speak just as the guard from the gate stepped aboard. "Forget one?" He asked amiably, gesturing toward Sam.

Bobby fumbled with the keys in unlocking Sam's cuffs. "Nah," He explained, "Saved this kid for last."

The guard stepped up and turned to look at Sam. He whistled. "Trouble on long legs." He shook his head and spoke to Bobby. "This one's a looker. He'll be somebody's boy in a day at the most." He grabbed Sam roughly by the arm and propelled him down the steps. Sam looked back once as he was dragged away, Bobby staring after him. The old hunter nodded to the two officers who'd met the bus, greeting the female officer by name.

"Officer Mills."

"Officer Singer."

Bobby nodded toward Sam. "Keep an eye on that one, He's trouble."

She nodded and smiled. "That's why I'm here."

###

Sam was hustled into a large, open room with the rest of the new arrivals. He was shoved unceremoniously into a seat near the back as an officer stepped to the podium at the front of the room.

"Welcome to Medina. Juvenile. Correctional. Facility. My name is Officer Kaylor. But you can call me Deacon. I'm here to oversee your arrival. First you'll submit to a strip and cavity search. Then you'll hit the showers. Then you'll be processed into your rooms." He grinned then, "And I'll be babysitting you every step of the way because no shit goes down on my watch. Do. I. make. myself. clear?"

No one responded.

"Good. There are six officers here. That means we each get four of you for our very own. You will do whatever the officer tells you to do, however he tells you to do it, and you'll like it. Otherwise, you'll answer to me." He stepped away from the podium and made his way up the aisle, looking over the candidates. He hand-picked his four, pointing to Sam last. "You four. Come with me."

Sam struggled to keep up in his leg chains, but Deacon set a strenuous pace, almost as though he wanted the other boys to fall behind.

As the officer held the door open for Sam to pass through, he murmured, "Chill, kid. I've known your father since 'Nam."

Sam startled and tried to speak.

"Shh." Deacon warned, cuffing him to a chair just as the other two boys entered. Deacon repeated the same procedure with one of the boys while he led the other behind a screen, removing his restraints and barking orders. "Clothes off." Deacon waited for the female officer to join him, then he nodded to her and stepped behind the screen. Sam couldn't see what was happening, but he remembered it from the first time they'd booked him into this hellhole. He blushed furiously thinking about a friend of John's reporting back on what he was about to do to Sam.

When it was his turn, Sam let himself be led mutely behind the curtain where Deacon removed his cuffs and leg chains. The female officer stepped behind the screen and smiled comfortingly at him, which Sam found strange. She had short-cropped dark hair and a kind smile, and her name badge said Mills. When Deacon gave Sam the order to remove his clothes, she laid a hand on his arm, holding a finger to her lips and shaking her head. Deacon leaned in like he was performing a cavity search, "Make the noises, boy." He whispered.

Sam grunted once or twice like he'd heard the other boys do. Then Deacon told him to get dressed and go line up at the door for showers.

At the showers, Deacon stood just inside the communal space. Sam was embarrassed but relieved at the same time. At least no one could make a move on him here without Deacon seeing. He glanced over once to see the man studying him and realized his body was a mass of black and blue from the beat-down in county holding. When Sam slipped past Deacon to retrieve a towel, the man spoke quietly.

"I'll be needing the names of the people who did that. Later."

Sam nodded and kept moving.


	22. Reinforcements

Sam's first week back, there was a fight in the rec room over who owned him. That was the night he got hoe checked by four other boys outside the shower. Deacon had shown up about 15 minutes in and pulled Sam out from under the group beating, but by that time, they'd slammed his head into the concrete too many times to count.

Sam figured if he didn't die in here, he'd end up with brain damage at the very least.

He was no sooner released from the infirmary than another boy chatted him up at the lunch table. Sam hadn't responded in any way, but he still found himself in trouble just before lights out when the boy cornered him in the rec room and had two other boys pin him down.

Officer Mills had happened upon that scene and stopped it just before the unthinkable happened.

Deacon had him moved to confinement after that, for his own protection, but Sam knew it was only a matter of time. He was small. He didn't talk much, and he was young. And those things combined placed a target on his back that at least a dozen other residents were determined to hit.

He saw Deacon and Officer Mills staring at him from time to time, concerned looks on their faces, but they were only two people, and they could only do so much.

So when the biggest, ugliest kid in the place walked up behind him at dinner one evening and placed an apple on his tray, Sam stood up to fight. He knew what the apple meant - the boy had just claimed him as his bitch - and nothing good was going to follow that.

Deacon and Mills had both been called away to a disturbance in another block, which Sam suddenly realized had been a set-up, and he knew he was on his own. There was another attendant present, but he belonged to the boy with the grudge.

Sam threw the first punch and downed the kid, but the boy knew how to fight. He rebounded quickly, and caught Sam across the face with a lock-in-a-sock. Still, Sam was able to collect himself enough to throw a kick that sent the kid skidding across the bricks. That would have been the end of it, but the other boy was a leader, and he had a gang of about 14 other kids. They swarmed the youngest Winchester like sand on a beach and beat and kicked him unconscious. When dinner ended, they left him there, pushed beneath a table, soaking in a puddle of his own blood.

That's where Deacon found him later when he didn't present himself for nightly role call.

That was the night Deacon realized it was going to take more than just himself and Jodi to keep Sam Winchester alive long enough to see his trial.

###

"Got a new batch comin' in today, pumpkin." The kid teased Sam. "Hear they got a mean one too - he's lookin' at all day and night - nothing left to lose. Bet he like that skinny ass."

Thus far, Sam had managed to escape belonging to anyone or being hazed into a gang, but the boy knew his days were numbered. He ignored the taunts.

Sam walked with a limp now, from the multiple beatings he'd taken, and he wondered sometimes if it wouldn't be permanent. He had trouble concentrating sometimes too, and that didn't seem to be going away either. On top of that, his vision was wrecked. But he didn't see much sense in mentioning it to anyone. It would just make him seem more vulnerable.

Sam tried not to think about it too much. Worse things had happened to some of the others he'd come in with three weeks ago. He often heard their screams in the night, and realized how lucky he was that Deacon was in charge of room assignments. He'd bunked Sam without a celly, and that was probably the only thing that had saved him so far.

"Um hmmm. You a sucker ducker fo any of us, but I bet he make you beg for it, girl. Whatchu think? Ain't got no gramps here to protect yo pretty ass now, yeah? I hear new O.G. ain't no fish. He mean as a snake, yeah? He make that ass hurt in ways yo ain't even thought about, girl."

"Kitty kitty thinks he's pretty." Another boy chanted, causing a hoot of laughter to erupt around the table.

"Uh oh. Here they come, G." The boy chuckled. "Yo better hide that ass, G. 'fore he sees it."

Sam didn't bother to look up. There'd been three other busloads of residents brought in since he'd arrived - one per week. And Sam was getting concerned that sooner or later, he'd end up with a celly. The way his luck had been running lately, he'd likely get the vicious lifer the boys were talking about."

Sam took a disinterested glimpse. The new arrivals were being herded through the lunch line, hair still wet from their showers. He went back to studying his tray when he heard footsteps approaching and felt himself tense.

"Here he come, G! He comin'!" The boy across from him whispered. "He look mean too!"

Sam rose, tray in hand, to move away, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. Sam tried to pull away, but the hand tightened its grip and yanked him backwards. He fell back into his chair, tray shooting sideways.

"Aww. You lose your lunch there, baby? Come here. Let me kiss it. Make it all better."

Sam's eyes grew huge as the other boys snickered. He felt a hand wrap around his waist and a strong arm pull him in, but the idea of resisting never occurred to him.

"Ain't you a fine-looking bitch? Need a baby to keep me warm at night. This looks like a cold fucking lock-up. You feel good, baby. Come here. I'm feelin cold right now." Sam felt his hair brushed back and a stubbled cheek graze his neck.

"Mmmm. Smell good too. Think I'm gonna like it here."

"Awwwwww!" The other boys erupted, howling. "Look like you made a friend, G! You be walkin' funny tomorrow!" The kid who'd given him such a hard time since day one stood then and high-fived the new arrival. "You get tired, you share, yeah? We been tryin' to get in them pants fo weeks now, O.G."

The new guy snarled, "I'll kill anyone tries to take what's mine. And this …," he shifted sideways on his chair and pulled Sam's back to his chest. This shit's mine. Spread the word."

The boy held up his hands in a position of surrender. "It's good, O.G. We cool. She yours." And they walked away laughing as Dean shifted behind his brother and whispered in the younger boy's ear. "I'm here now, Sammy. I got you."


	23. Roomies

Sam leaned back into his brother's strong comfort, eyes closed in relief, and Dean tightened his grip. The older boy whispered in his ear.

"Sammy, you gotta fight me a bit. Make it look real, okay?"

Instantly, Sam began struggling against the embrace like he wanted to break free.

Dean laughed loudly. "Don't worry, baby. I'm not gonna let you go."

And the more Sam struggled against him, the tighter Dean held on, until it appeared that Sam had given up and resigned himself to his fate. He could hear the boys who'd beat him making fun of him from across the room. They called out.

"He like that, girl! Come on, O.G. Do him right there! We wanna watch!"

Sam suddenly sobbed, and it was for real. Dean tightened his hold. "Don't, Sammy! Don't cry in front of them, you hear me?"

Sam stifled his cries instantly, his chest hitching silently in great, wracking effort. To anyone watching, it appeared that Dean was whispering to his new acquisition and that Sam was terrified at what the older boy was saying.

"Deacon's gonna room us together okay? When he does, you gotta make it look like you're scared. Can you do that, Sammy?"

"I hate it here so much, Dean. I think I'm just gonna die." Sam suddenly blurted quietly.

"Not gonna happen, Sam. It's gonna be okay now. I won't let anyone bother you anymore. I tried to get in here sooner, but it took time for Deac to pull the strings. I'm sorry it wasn't sooner, Sammy."

And at that, the older man suddenly appeared at their table. He looked down on the struggle dispassionately. "Looks like you finally found a new celly, Winchester." He addressed Sam, smiling.

"Nooooooooooooo!" Sam howled, convincing everyone in the room and even startling Dean and Deacon. "Please! No! You can't put me in with him! Please! You gotta get him off me!"

Deacon stepped back and took in the sight of Sam convincingly restrained by the new arrival who obviously had nefarious intentions, and he smiled. "Nah." He said, and strode off, whistling.

"Nooooooooooo!" Sam cried. "Wait! Don't go! I need help! Please!" He struggled piteously against Dean's strong arms.

"Why don't you let the kid go?" A voice said quietly off to Dean's right. "He's not even fourteen. There's plenty of older boys here for you to pick from."

Both Winchesters looked over to see a boy who looked to be about 17. He was tall and thin with dark red hair tied back in a ponytail. His goatee was neatly trimmed. He studied the pair, expression blank.

"What's it to you?" Dean barked.

The boy gazed at Dean silently, making him feel like he was no more than three inches tall. "Have a heart. He's a child. You're terrifying him."

"Why? So you can have him?" Dean tightened his grip.

"No, so his life isn't ruined forever. Weren't you ever 13?"

Dean swallowed down bile, "Fuck off, asshole. This belongs to me now."

Sam whimpered convincingly, and the boy moved off.

Dean rose, picking up his tray and gestured to Sam to do the same. They headed for the tray return. It was the first time Dean had seen Sam walk, and he had to fight back tears at his brother's awkward, shuffling gait and exaggerated limp.

Sam had always moved so gracefully.

Dean was going to kill some sonsabitches.


	24. Downtime

Deacon unlocked the door to Sam's room and stood back, waiting for both boys to enter. Dean strolled in first, took a casual look around, calmly dumped Sam's things off the bottom bunk and sat down.

Outside the room, the onlookers snorted and cat-called. "Oh G, he took your spot, girl! Where you gonna sleep now?"

"Ain't no sleeping gone down in that room no more!" Someone called, and the crowd hooted.

Sam held back, going for authenticity, until Deacon gave him a gentle shove forward that landed him on the bed beside Dean. The catcalls and whistles erupted again as Dean leaned over and wrapped an arm around the younger boy's shoulder and placed a hand high up on his knee.

The red-haired kid stepped forward then and addressed Deacon. "You can see what's going to happen here. Why don't you stop this? I'll room with the new guy." Dean looked up, frowning.

"Get back to your room, Ben." Deacon warned. "This isn't any of your concern."

"You know what's gonna happen to him. If you do this, you're just as much of a monster as he is." Ben said, staring Deacon down.

"Ben." Deacon warned again. "I ain't askin' twice, boy."

Ben nailed Dean with a look then. "How can you do this?" He asked the older boy calmly. "He's just a terrified kid. Are you so damaged that you'll do this to another human being? A kid even?"

Dean was taken aback, but he heard the sudden silence that descended and knew that Sam's life depended on how well he played his role. He smiled eerily. "You wanna be next? Ben?" He emphasized the kid's name ominously. "Cause when I get tired of playin' with this little bitch, I can come look you up after, kid."

Ben stared, unintimidated. "You'll regret this, Dean. That's your name, right? Dean? You got a conscience in there somewhere. I can see it in your eyes. Let the kid alone. Please? You can come bunk with me."

Dean pinned the kid with his deadliest stare.

Ben shook his head. "He's thirteen, Dean. Thirteen."

"Okay, that's enough." Deacon pushed the door closed, and Ben heard it lock into place. "Get back to your room, Ben. Show's over for today."

But Ben stood gazing at Deacon. "You've been looking out for him for weeks. I thought you had a soul." He accused. "Guess I was wrong. Guess you're just one of them after all." And he turned and walked away, wincing once at the sound of Sam's raised voice coming from inside the locked room.

Deacon stood guard at the boys' window while another attendant locked the other residents in for the night. When the corridor was clear, he glanced in the window and gave Dean a thumbs up, walking away.

Dean turned to Sam then and opened both arms wide. "Come here, Sammy."

And Sam flew.

###

The boys sat on the floor, backs against the lower bunk, shoulders touching. Sam was so desperate for a comforting touch that he'd been crowding Dean's personal space ever since the older boy had arrived, and Dean didn't mind a bit.

"Hey, uh, Sammy."

"Yeah?"

"Uh, about what we're doing out there," He gestured outside the room. "You know I gotta do that stuff, right? I gotta act all … you know … handsy and stuff. It'll keep the other ones away. You understand that, right?"

Sam nodded, "Of course, Dean. I'm not two!"

"Okay, well, if it ever … you know … if I ever … ever scare you, you let me know, okay? Let's have a safe word. Like maybe if I get too rough, you say something like … uh …"

"Like that I'm gonna hurl?"

Dean blinked. "Yeah, okay. That'll work. Just say ""I'm gonna hurl." That'll be my cue to back off, okay?"

"How'd you know how to say all that stuff anyway? You sound just like them."

Dean felt a little sick at that revelation, but he knew it just meant he was playing his role well.

"Deacon's been filling me and Dad in every night. He's been coaching me on the lingo. There's a whole bunch of sick puppies in this place, hunh?"

Sam nodded, quiet. "Yeah."

Dean noticed. "So I heard what's been happening to you, Sammy, and I swear it's all I can do not to kill some people." He bumped his brother's shoulder. "You're limpin'."

Sam shrugged. "It's not as bad to what goes down here at night. You can … you can hear the screams." He shuddered. "If it hadn't been for Deacon putting me alone …"

"What else they do, Sammy? Besides hurt your leg, I mean?"

Sam sighed, My head took a pretty good beating. That guy that high-fived you? He busted me in the face with what they call lock-in-a-sock. It's a combination lock, and you drop it down inside a sock and swing it. Hurts pretty bad. My vision's all jacked up. Can't focus for long on anything anymore."

Dean stared. "The hell, Sam? You tell Deacon? Here, let me see." He leaned over and grasped Sam gently by the chin, turning his face this way and that, studying his eyes. Then the older boy felt along the back and sides of his head. Sam winced."

"Bastards! I oughta fucking kill every one of them!" Dean spit out. "You probably had a concussion. Didn't anyone check you out after?"

Sam nodded, "I guess. Woke up in the infirmary."

"You were fucking unconscious?"

"Yeah, apparently."

Sam could tell by the way Dean kept swallowing and blinking that he was trying not to lose it completely. He changed the subject. "So, what's going on with my case? Or don't I want to know?"

Dean's whole demeanor changed then, and he grinned. "Their case is falling to pieces, Sam! Dell kicks ass and takes names when it comes to defending his clients. He got the kid who swore he saw you hurt and string up the dog and place the bomb to admit someone paid him to say it. She showed him a picture of you and offered to pay for his first year of fucking college if he'd lie. Dell thinks she's the one who built and left the bomb. She probably did the dog too, although Dell thinks she had help."

Sam stared. "Who?"

Dean studied his brother sadly, "Uh, it's Leslie, Sam."

"What!"

"Description the kid gave fits her to a tee."

"Dean! Leslie?"

The older boy nodded.

"Why?"

"Bobby's theory is she wanted Dad all to herself. Guess I was independent enough not to be a threat, but you - you're still a kid who needs his dad. She didn't like that."

"What's Dad say?"

Dean shook his head. "He's … he can't look any of us in the eye, Sam. He just spends every waking minute working on your case. He doesn't sleep, doesn't eat … just research. I think the guilt is eating him up pretty bad. He feels like he brought this all on you."

"He didn't. He didn't know."

"I know. I mean, I think I do. I still … I'm angry though. You've suffered so much, Sammy. I just … I swear I'd kill her if I knew where the red-hot bitch was staying."

"She's gone?"

Dean nodded, "Guess she figured out the jig was up. Dell says he's got the motive pinned down tight, and access to the materials - everything she used to make the bomb is stuff we keep in the house. He thinks she's somehow behind the file swap too - the one that mixed you up with that serial killer. He just needs a history of mental problems or witnesses to say how crazy she is or proof of some other crazy shit she's done to somebody to get the charges dropped completely. He says it shouldn't be long. She's got a kid tucked away somewhere. Dell says if he can find him, he might provide the missing link we need."

Sam blinked, "So … no needle in the arm? No … no death row?"

Dean's eyes watered. "God no, Sammy. Stop thinking about that shit." He pulled the younger boy in for a hug like he was never going to let him go. "Dad and I … we'd never let that happen. We'd burn this place to the ground first with all these bastards in it. I didn't think you were actually taking that seriously."

Sam's voice hitched. "It's all I've been able to think about. I … I watched a video in the library. The guy … it … it was just … it looked horrible."

"No, stop it, Sammy. Just stop." Dean crooned, rubbing the younger boy's back. "I mean it, Sam. You're almost out of here. Dell promised. He expects them to drop all charges when you go to hearing. We just have to hang on here for another week. That's it."

Sam found the courage then to voice his biggest fear. It was the first thing that had popped into his mind when he'd heard Dean's voice in the lunchroom, and he hadn't been able to quiet it since.

"Hey Dean?"

"What, Sammy?"

"Your legs? I mean, how are they? What if … what if you have to … you know … fight? What if they give out? They'll be on you in a heartbeat, Dean. It's like packs of wild dogs here. You can't show any weakness. As relieved as I am that you're here with me, I think I'm more scared now because I can't … can't watch something happen to you because of me."

Dean smiled. "Damn, this kid," he thought. "Don't sweat it, Sammy. I got Deacon and Jody bringing me my meds and stuff. I'll be okay."

"Who's Jody?"

"Officer Mills. Old friend of Bobby's."

Sam stared. That explained a lot.

"How'd Deacon pull all this off? I mean, Bobby, and I think the bus driver that brought me in here too, then Officer Mills and Deacon and now you? It takes time to arrange stuff like that. I mean, how? Will you have a record when this is all over? I'm not leaving here if you end up having to stay."

Dean snorted, "Not happening, Sam."

"Then how?"

Dell has a friend of a friend in the Office of Internal Affairs. She's been looking to investigate this place for years - clean it up. It's the embarrassment of the CDCR. He clued her into what we wanted to do, and she set it all up. Some of these little bastards are going down, Sam. And hard. Some of the guards too. And Deacon's loving life. This goes right, and he's up for a nice promotion."

"So this nightmare could actually turn out to be a good thing?"

Dean shook his head. "Still not worth it, Sam. You've sacrificed too much."

Sam smiled then. "But it will to nice to see good stuff happen to Deacon. He's saved my life at least three times over. Jody too. Is she up for a promotion?"

Dean nodded. I think they've both got something in the works if this pans out."

"Well good. Then I don't mind it so much."

Dean snorted. "You're a weird kid, Sam."

Sam smiled.

"Hey, what's the deal with that Ben kid? He been bothering you?"

"Don't know. Never noticed him til today. I thought he came in with you?"

"No, he was already here. Sounded like he's been watching you."

Sam shuddered. "Great."

Dean sat with one arm around his little brother - the kid he'd happily die for over and over again - and wondered about the soft-spoken kid with the red hair and the overwhelming concern for Sam.

And he wondered if he'd eventually have to kick his ass.


	25. Lightning Bolt

_Warning: Graphic Content_

When both boys emerged from their room the next morning for breakfast, they found themselves the targets of extreme scrutiny - Sam especially.

"Oh G. You limpin' this morning. Why you limpin,' girl?"

"You get a good ride last night, girl? Hmm?"

"Mmm mmm mmm, looking all rode out G. That ass ain't so high 'n mighty today, yeah?"

As Sam took more and more abuse, Dean felt his mood plummeting, not that it was any too elevated to begin with. Worse, he was forced to laugh and play along as his brother turned inward and tried to disappear. Every boy they encountered wanted to high-five Dean and congratulate him on hurting his kid brother, and Dean was forced to comply to keep up appearances. By the time they sat down to eat, Sam's head was down, his hands shaking, as he tried to hold his spoon.

At least Sam looked authentically miserable, Dean thought, as he sat studying the younger boy who was shaking too badly to get the food from the tray to his mouth. Dean turned sideways in his chair and drew Sam close again - chest to back. He buried his face in Sam's hair and whispered quietly, "Sammy, you okay?"

Sam shook his head.

Dean tightened his hold, "Just feel me holdin' on, okay? Take some strength from me. Can you do that? Don't nod. Just say yes or no."

"Yes." Sam whispered.

"One more week, Sammy. Remember that. And they're sayin' shit, but at least they're staying away. Play along. They'll leave us alone as long as we play the game."

The big guy who'd threatened Sam before he ever got on the bus took the seat across from Dean. He struck up a conversation. "You smoke?" He asked the older boy.

Dean glared. "Who's askin'?"

"I'm askin'. Do you?"

"No. What's it to you?"

"How 'bout coffee? You drink coffee?"

"I don't want your damned coffee." Dean growled. "So whatever you're sellin', take it somewhere else."

"How 'bout him?" The guy gestured to Sam. "Bet he likes candy. You like candy?" He addressed the younger boy.

"You don't talk to him, you hear me?"

The man sat back, unconcerned. After a moment, he asked outright. "So what's it gonna take?"

Dean stared back, chillingly. He had no idea what the guy was asking him, but he wasn't about to let on.

"I asked you a question. Whaddaya want?" He persisted, long, greasy hair swaying as he shook it back off one shoulder.

"Nothing you got. Move along."

"I mean for the kid."

Dean froze, felt Sam freeze up in front of him.

"What did you say?" Dean asked.

"Come on. Twenty minutes." The guy reached into a pocket and pulled out four packets of coffee. He fanned them out in front of Dean on the table. "Okay, ten minutes on his knees. It's a good deal. Won't get no better since you don't smoke. Ever'body drinks coffee. You don't? You can trade for candy for the kid."

Sam just knew Dean was about to die. He caught both the older boy's hands and twined his fingers through them in an effort to hold him in place.

Dean felt Sam's fear channeling up through his shaking form. When he could find his voice again, he asked. "How the fuck old are you?"

The man smiled, "I'm 49. Don't matter. A hole's a hole."

Dean rose with a roar, upending the table into the asshole who'd dared even look at his baby brother. He picked up the first thing close, which happened to be Sam's tray, and smacked the guy's face with it. He did it again, then a third time, until the thick, unbreakable plastic shattered, leaving a long gash down the side of the man's temple. Then he tackled the monstrous man, wrapping hands around his throat.

"He's MINE!" Dean screamed, trying to make the best of a situation that had gotten out of hand. "You don't TOUCH him! You don't LOOK at him! You don't even THINK about him, you ugly son-of-a-bitch! I will END you!"

Through his rage, Dean could hear the hoots and hollers of the crowd as they watched the spectacle.

Sam wanted to run to his brother's defense - to pull him away from the danger - but then he realized he was supposed to be afraid of Dean, supposed to want to see him hurt. Sam struggled to rise from the floor where Dean's sudden eruption had tossed him, and a hand reached down to help. Sam looked up to see Ben, a look of concern etching his features. He nodded. "Come on up, Sam. I'll help you."

Sam took the offered hand and stood as Deacon rushed over and pulled Dean off the other resident. "Come on, newbie. Into the time-out room for you." He started to lead Dean away, then stopped and turned back to Sam. "You were part of this too?"

Sam backed away, 'No! No, I …"

But Deacon wasn't interested, "Come on, Winchester. You're in this too. Gonna play, gonna pay."

And Deacon led them both away, headed toward confinement.

###

Dean leaned against the wall inside the secluded cell, trying not to make any sudden moves as Deacon grinned, handing him two pills and a water bottle.

"Gonna play, gonna pay, Dean." He chuckled.

"Totally worth it." Dean shot him a dark look as he downed the painkillers.

"Where's it hurt worst?" Sam asked quietly, kneading his brother's back.

Dean grunted when Sam hit the right spot. "There. Dammit."

Sam backed off instantly. "I'm sorry."

"No, Sammy. It's good. Go ahead. I mean, if you don't mind."

"Well, your daddy told me you had a temper."

Dean snorted then, "Son of a bitch got what he deserved."

"That he did," Deacon agreed. "And I'm pretty sure no one's going to be messing with Sam anytime soon now."

"What about that guy? Will he try to get even with Dean?" Sam worried.

Deacon shrugged, "Maybe. We'll keep close tabs."

"That type? He ain't interested in a fair fight." Dean rationalized. "If I was 10 maybe. Damn, Deacon. Why they got guys like that in here with kids?"

The guard frowned, "Piss-poor management. Best-case scenario? They just shut this place down. Ship the kids off to juvie and that sick bastard off to Quentin."

###

Sam had always asked Deacon to lock him in during evening rec time, but Dean, being Dean, asked him to leave the door open. He wanted eyes and ears to what was happening outside their room.

The boys sat together on the bottom bunk, keeping up appearances. Sam sitting up against the wall and Dean lying down with his feet in Sam's lap. It made Sam look submissive and gave Dean's back a rest at the same time. When he was sure no one was watching, Sam rubbed his brother's aching calves.

They were both sitting, talking quietly, when Ben ambled in and sat down on the floor across from them.

Dean shifted, and Sam could feel him tense up, ready to spring. "Why are you here?" He growled.

Ben was silent for a moment before speaking, then he smiled. "You can drop the act." He said softly.

"What act is that?" Dean demanded, showing no fear.

"The one where you're strangers. Brothers, right? You move the same. Have the same mannerisms. Use the same words."

The boys exchanged looks. "You're crazy." Dean offered, closing his eyes, feigning unconcern.

"And you lost your gangsta speak back there." Ben added. "Haven't heard a "girl" or a "baby" out of you since old Carl threatened Sam."

"Plus," he turned to Sam, "You locked your fingers in his, tried to hold him back. I don't know many "boys" who'd do that for the guys who use them."

Dean sat up. "Why the hell you lookin' so close, hunh? What do you want?"

Ben's eyes flickered with something that looked like hurt. "Nothing. Just to spend some time with someone who's not batshit crazy, I guess."

Sam spoke then, "Why are you in here, Ben?"

"Long story, Sam. Long and sad. Trust me, you don't wanna hear it."

"Look, whatever you're selling, nobody in this room is buyin'. You're wasting your time."

"Officer Kaylor, he's in on it too, right? And Mills?"

Nobody spoke.

Ben smiled again. He reached back into his back pocket and brought out a piece of paper. He looked at it, a wistful smile forming, then handed it to Sam.

Dean intercepted it. "We don't want your drugs either." He glanced down at the paper, then back up at Ben. He handed it on to Sam.

Sam took it and studied it, a smile forming.

"That's Shiloh. He's an old beagle hound. Dumb like a fox. I miss him." Ben offered.

"I have a border collie. He's Shalako. Shallie for short. I miss him too." Sam handed the worn pic back.

Ben took it, grinning, "I knew you were a dog person. Takes one to know one, you know?"

"So, no family?" Dean questioned.

Ben shook his head. "Mom. That's it."

Dean waited, "Sounds like there's a story there."

Ben shrugged. "There isn't."

"So you miss the dog, but not your mother?" Dean clarified.

Ben smiled. "Pretty much. Yes."

"How long you been here?"

"Three years."

Both Winchesters stared, trying not to imagine what that must be like.

"You're leaving, right? Soon? You're getting out. I can tell you don't belong here." Ben addressed Sam.

Sam suddenly felt guilty. "Hope so. Hearing's next week."

Ben nodded, "So how about you? How'd you get here?"

Sam smiled, "Same long story, I think."

Ben leaned back, crossing his fingers behind his head and grinning. "Well, we can suffer together for another week maybe. Misery loves company, right?"

Deacon stuck his head in as though to say something to Sam and frowned when he found the redhead inside the room, leaning up against the wall.

"Why are you here, Benigan?" He barked.

Dean's eyes widened to saucers.

Ben shrugged, "Got tired of my own company?"

"What'd you call him? What'd he call you?" Dean repeated.

"Benigan. It's my last name. That's where the Ben comes from. First name is actually Nick."


	26. Hey, It's Good to Be Back Home Again

"Benigan?" Sam made the connection, "Isn't that …"

But Dean cut him off. "Deacon," He gestured for the guard to come in, "Close the door."

Ben looked from one to the other of them, from the look of determination on Dean's face to Sam's frown. He slid up from the wall nervously as Deacon stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

Ben held up his hands, "Hey, look guys," He said, voice trembling. "I thought you guys were okay. I'm just gonna go now, alright?"

"You're not going anywhere." Dean growled. "Your mother? Leslie Benigan?"

Ben froze. "What?"

"You're the dead son? The one that died in an avalanche in Utah?" Dean asked.

Ben paled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Is your mother Leslie Benigan?"

"How do you know that?"

Sam had to retrieve his jaw from the floor, "Ben, tell us how you ended up here. Please."

Ben swallowed hard. "No. I'm not telling you anything." He turned to Deacon. "Let me out."

Silence fell, but Deacon never moved from the door.

"Okay then. I'll tell you how I got here." Sam said softly. "My dad … he started dating a woman named Leslie Benigan. She seemed nice, but then I started having … accidents. She … she backed a car into me and ran into me with a hot skillet. She dropped a China cabinet on my toe."

Ben paled.

"Then, I got arrested by accident. It was just a silly mistake, but Leslie … she told the cop she was my legal guardian and told them she wanted me sent here. Then my file somehow got mixed up with some serial killer who liked hurting animals. They got it straightened out and Dad got me out of here, but then a dog was hurt and a bomb went off and the guy might die, and she offered to pay some boy's way through college if he lied and said I did it. So now I'm here. And it's her fault. She did this to me. And my lawyer … my lawyer says we have to find her missing son because he might be able to testify if she's done stuff like this before."

Ben slid back down the wall, his body trembling. He shook his head like he didn't believe what he was hearing.

"No … Sam … just … no." He whispered.

Dean studied the boy who looked like he'd just seen an unwelcome ghost from his past. "She did the same thing to you, didn't she?"

Deacon stepped forward and put his hand on Ben's shoulder. He shook his head at Dean. "That's enough conversation. You boys need your lawyers before anything else is said in this room." He reached down a hand and pulled Ben up. "I'm taking you back to your room now, Ben. And I'm calling both of your lawyers. No more talking about this between the three of you, you hear me?"

###

Sam sat beside Dell in a courtroom that bore no resemblance to his last appearance. It was himself, Dell, John, Dean, Bobby and the courtroom staff. No spectators. The prosecution had dropped the hate crime and terror charges, and all that remained was the charge of animal cruelty, but Dell assured them it was only a formality.

The judge suddenly addressed him.

"Samuel, it is apparent to me that a gross miscarriage of justice has occurred to you in my courtroom, and it's with the utmost regret that I apologize on behalf of the state of California. What happened to you should never happen to anyone, especially someone of such a tender age. And I assure you that I'll do my utmost to see that it never happens again. That being said, will you please stand and face The Bench?"

Sam and Dell rose.

"Samuel Winchester, the remaining charge of cruelty against an animal is dropped. Charges are dismissed. You're free to go." She dropped her gavel, and with it, all of Sam's sadness and stress of the last few months fell away. He turned and leaned into Dell's hug. Sam laughed as he felt the familiar thumps on his back from John and Bobby, and then Dean was there, and Sam grabbed him and pulled him tight.

"Thanks, big brother. I probably wouldn't even be here for this if it wasn't for you." He whispered, his voice breaking with emotion.

Dean hugged him back like he never wanted to let him go. "Shut it, you little bitch. It's my job, and you know it."

###

"They got her."

At John's proclamation, the kitchen fell silent.

Sam and Dean had been home for only half a day, when John turned from his phone and dropped the bombshell - Leslie Benigan was in custody. In exchange for her cooperation, Dell said the state was working with her to prosecute her accomplice, a much bigger fish. The judge who'd expunged Sam's record initially, in the hopes of covering his tracks, was also the one responsible for switching out the information in Sam's file with that of the convicted serial killer. Apparently, he'd done it before. And not only had it led to Sam's arrest, but it had also set the other man free early. In the interim, he'd killed two more people.

"She ain't getting off, surely?" Bobby asked, slamming his beer on the table.

John shook his head. "Dell says she's looking at a possible death sentence for the hate crime and the bomb. Mr. Martin's dead, after all, and it was her bomb that killed him. He says if she cooperates, she might get life instead."

Dean grinned, shoulder-bumping his kid brother. "How 'bout that, Sam? That white-hot bitch locked in irons, walking into a courtroom packed with people who hate her? I hope she gets the cup of piss right in her ugly face." The older boy would never forgive what his kid brother had been forced to endure because of one woman's obsession.

Sam smiled faintly, then glanced at his father. He cleared his throat. "You, uh … you okay, Dad?" He asked, remembering that John had once thought he loved Leslie. In Sam's lap, Shallie gave the boy a comforting lick on the arm.

John looked startled. Then he smiled, reclaiming his seat next to Sam at the table. "Why wouldn't I be, son? My boys are here. They're safe. That's the only thing that matters, Sam." He suddenly pulled the younger boy into an awkward hug. "God, I'm so sorry Sammy. Everything you went through … I brought that woman … that evil … into this house. And we almost lost you because of it."

"It's okay, Dad." Sam struggled with his voice, unaccustomed to such displays of affection from the stoic John Winchester.

Across the table, Bobby and Dean exchanged amused glances.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but that news sure helped my appetite." Dean said, reaching for another pile of Bobby's famous scrambled eggs.

John snorted, drawing away. He took a swipe at his eyes. "Well there's a newsflash."

Sam grinned happily, as he watched his brother reach for the eggs. Dean glanced over at him suspiciously. "What?"

Sam shrugged, scratching Shallie's ear absently. "Just remembering the last time you had a plate of scrambled eggs in front of you. Maybe you'll actually get to eat them this time. You know, instead of using them to decorate some dude's face."

Dean paused, considering. Then he shrugged. "Dude had it coming. Felt damned good too."

John studied his older boy. "That the altercation Deacon was telling us about? He said you lost it pretty good. What'd the guy say anyway?"

Dean and Sam froze, eyes locked. Then Dean shrugged, "He wanted to buy something I wasn't sellin'."

John's eyes narrowed and he glanced at Bobby, a silent communication passing between the two older men.

"Dean." John suddenly spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

The older boy looked up from his eggs, wary. He was totally prepared to lie to his father, to his unofficial uncle, to anyone who asked, to spare his brother the embarrassment and humiliation of what that particular day had caused him.

"What, Dad?"

But John only smiled. "You're a hell of a good man, son. I hope you know that."

 _ **Author's Note:** Not the ending. Not even close :) Thanks to everyone who's hanging in there with me. Loving your feedback!_


	27. Settling In

"You've got a little damage there, Sam." The eye doctor told him, stepping back, as Dean and John stood silently by. "Probably stems from the incident you told us about outside the shower. Your skull's repeated, violent contact with the concrete floor caused a concussion. My best guess is that it was left untreated, or at least, not treated properly. This caused the vision problem you're experiencing now. The older man smiled, "Should be temporary."

Sam looked up hopefully. "Will the headaches go away too?" He asked, rubbing his eyes aggressively.

"Don't do that, Sam." The doctor frowned. "Not with both fists like that. That will only make the problem worse. When your eyes feel itchy like that, get a cool wet cloth and place over them, okay?"

"Oh." Sam stopped and blinked, trying to ignore the discomfort in his eyes.

"And the answer to your question is yes. The headaches should go away in time too. I'll prescribe a pain reliever and some eye drops that should help. Other than that, there's not much that plain old time won't heal. Just try not to strain your eyes. That will only make things worse - no reading in low light. Limit your time on the computer - things like that. Think you can do that?"

Sam nodded, squinting. It felt like his eyesight was getting worse by the day. He stood, swaying, as Dean reached out a steadying hand and planted himself firmly at Sam's elbow.

John stepped forward as his boys made their way out. He reached out a hand. "Thanks, doc." He smiled. "We appreciate you seeing Sam on such short notice, but he was starting to worry us."

The doctor shook the offered hand, holding onto it longer than necessary. "John," He said, a caution in his voice. "Keep a close eye on him. If things don't get better by next week, I want to see him back here, okay?"

John frowned, breaking the handshake. He nodded. "Will do. Why? What aren't you telling us?"

"It's probably nothing. I'm pretty sure the partial vision loss that Sam's experiencing is temporary - due to damaged nerves and muscles trying to heal, but there's a small chance it could be more serious. We won't cross that bridge unless we have to, but if Sam experiences sudden severe pain or complete loss of vision, you need to get him here right away. Is that clear?"

John nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Sure."

"Good." The doctor smiled then. "I'll be right out with prescriptions for Sam's pain reliever and eye drops."

###

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, worried about his brother's pale face and obvious headache.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just really want those pain killers is all."

"We'll get 'em filled on the way home, okay? Then you can take one in the car before it gets any worse.

"Yeah, sounds good." Sam sighed, leaning heavily on his brother as they made their way to the Impala.

Dean frowned. This was totally unlike his brother. Sam was fiercely independent - frustratingly so even. His willingness to let Dean lead him around like a blind man was … unsettling.

He settled his brother in the backseat and took his place behind the wheel as they waiting for their father to join them. Dean was worried, but he didn't want to cause his brother any more anxiety. He studied the younger boy silently in the rear view mirror.

Sam sat with his head back against the seat, eyes closed. If Dean looked close, he could tell Sam's one eye was slightly swollen, and judging by the grimace on his brother's face and by the way he gently rubbed circles over that temple, it hurt too.

Dean swallowed down another wave of anger at the treatment his baby brother had received at the hands of the hoodlums at Medina. He wished he had the four boys who'd hoe checked his brother during his first week in lockup. And then the fact that Sam hadn't received proper medical care for his injuries …

Dean would be so happy to see that hellhole shut down, and he waiting anxiously every day for word from Deacon as to what was going to happen with that whole deal.

John slid into the passenger seat just then, silencing Dean's thoughts. "Everything okay?" The older boy asked.

John nodded. "Just had to wait for Sam's paperwork. Let's go pick up these pills." He turned in his seat. "You okay, son?"

"Yeah. I'm good." Sam answered quietly, though it was clear he wasn't. "Just … wanna lay down for a while."

Dean glanced back in the mirror. "We'll get you home and make you up a bed on the couch if you want. Have a movie night?"

"Yeah," Sam grimaced. "Okay."

But once they got home, Sam made a beeline for the stairs and disappeared into the shared bedroom, and when Dean checked on him later, he was lost in deep sleep. Dean stood looking down at him and smiling. Asleep, Sam looked like he was eight years old again - his hair all wild and flung in stripes across his face. And though he'd never admit it if Dean bothered to tease him about it later - Sam clung tight to Dean's old teddy bear, two spindly arms wrapped tightly around it, holding it snug to his body.

Dean smiled down at his kid brother as he cuddled the toy. And then his mind inadvertently traveled back to that day in the cafeteria and the words that the old pervert had spoken, and a shudder traveled through him.

If Dean hadn't been there that day …

Sam knew nothing about that sort of thing, and if Dean had his way, he never would. At least, not until he was at least 30. Well, maybe 25.

Certainly not 13 though. Dean had known all about that kind of stuff when he was Sam's age, and he wasn't sure he was the better for it.

But Sam.

Not gonna happen.

Not as long as Dean had a single breath left in his body.

He tugged a soft blanket over his brother's sleeping form and snapped off the overhead light on his way out. Then he maneuvered himself down the stairs to watch the latest adventure flick with his father.

###

When Sam awoke, he lay silent and still for a moment, getting a grip on what sort of day it was going to be. He'd gotten into the habit of doing this immediately upon his return home. His eyes had been bothering him since before he was ever released, and he could usually tell right away whether the day was going to be okay or just tolerable.

Those were the only two choices anymore - okay, and just tolerable. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd actually felt good, been pain-free. And judging by the soft throb going on behind his left eye right right now, he figured he had about three good hours at the most before the headache brought him back to this bed.

Okay, just tolerable then.

And the thought was depressing.

He sighed, rolling carefully over to face his brother in the other bed.

Dean was wide awake, staring straight at him.

"Head hurt?" The older boy asked, sympathy evident in his face.

Sam smiled. "Like a volcano." He answered softly. "How about you?"

Dean grinned, "Right ass cheek has a bitch of a cramp."

The two boys stared at each other for a long moment before dissolving into giggles.

"We're a hot mess." Sam snorted.

Dean chuckled, "I hate to ask but …"

Sam sighed exaggeratedly, "The things I do for my brother."

"You ever tell anyone, I'll stab you in the throat."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Sam smiled, as he sat carefully up and got his bearings. He took the three steps to Dean's bed and climbed up behind the older boy, pushing him onto his stomach. He began massaging the back of the very top of Dean's leg.

"I know it feels like a butt cramp," Sam explained, "but it's actually your hamstring." He smacked Dean on the ass. "Roll over, jerk."

Dean groaned, "I hate you, you little bitch."

"You love me, and you know it." Sam answered, helping his brother turn over. He picked up the older boy's foot and began flexing it toward his chest, the knee bent. "Feel it? It's just supposed to pull, not hurt."

Dean spoke through gritted teeth. "Yeah, well, you're doing it wrong then."

Sam grinned, "Nuh uh. You're just a big baby."

"Bite me, bitch."

Sam snorted, "So did Dad help you with these every morning while I was … was away?"

Dean glared.

"That's what I thought. You have to do the exercises, or it's never going to get better."

"You're enjoying this, you, you ... masochist."

"I think you mean sadist, but okay. Maybe just a little." Sam grinned again, repeating the process with the other leg.

Dean groaned.

"There." Sam said rising. "All better. Now tonight, we lather, rinse, repeat."

"I hate you."

"It's been said before." Sam joked, "But as long as you're not telling me to get on my knees, I'll take it."

Dean froze, blood turning to ice in his veins.

"Not funny, Sam."

The younger boy shrugged, sinking back down on the edge of his bed. "Kinda is. You know, since it never actually happened. Of course, if it had, I probably wouldn't be joking about it."

Dean labored painfully up into a sitting position, "No, you wouldn't, because some asshole would be dead, and I'd be in prison."

Sam smiled at that. He'd never admit it, but he liked Dean's protective streak. It made him feel like he mattered to someone at least. "You need help to the bathroom?"

Dean bit his lip, hating his answer. But Sam didn't make him say it out loud. Instead he moved quickly over to the other bed and pulled his brother up by both hands. Wrapping Dean's right arm around his shoulder, he helped the older boy to the bath, leaving him just inside and pulling the door closed behind him.

Sam turned then, and made his way carefully to the door, blinking rapidly to clear his vision enough to attempt the stairs. His pain medication was downstairs, and boy, did he need it.


	28. The Complication

Damn, Sam's left eye was killing him.

He sat at the kitchen table, downstairs before everyone else, and tried not to feel sorry for himself. It was bad enough when the headaches kicked in at the end of the day, but waking up with them totally sucked. He sipped on coffee and massaged his left temple as he waited for the pain medication to kick in.

He closed his eyes, but the pain just intensified.

Sam considered himself tough, but he was really toying with the idea of asking Dad to take him to the ER, and Winchester men just didn't do the ER.

But damn … the pain.

Sam groaned and opened his eyes, determined to just deal with it.

But it was only darkness that greeted him.

###

Dean tugged his jeans up gingerly, wincing as he straightened. He wondered if he'd ever again look forward to mornings.

He sighed.

And that's when the screaming started. Dean barely recognized his brother's voice, it was that terrified - woven clean through with pain and fear and panic.

One word.

"Dean! Oh God! Dean! Deeeeeaaaaaaannnnnnn!"

Dean's shirt dropped numbly from his fingers as he bolted for the stairs.

"Sammy!" He called back in a terrified echoed, rounding the newel post and sliding into the kitchen.

Sam was on his knees on the kitchen floor, hysterical, kneeling in broken ceramic and coffee. His eyes were wide open, his head thrown back like he couldn't breathe. His arms reached out stiffly toward nothing. "Dean!" His cries turned to sobs as Dean landed in front of him, gathering him up in a desperate embrace.

"Sammy! What the hell, man? I thought something was trying to kill you?"

"I can't seeeeeeeeeee!" Sam wailed. "Nothing! It's just black. It's black everywhere I look! Dean, I'm blind! I can't … can't be blind!"

"What!" Dean cried, echoing his brother's fear. He pulled Sam against him tight, locking both arms around his frail frame and trying to steady them both. "Sammy! It's … it's gonna be okay, man! Just … calm down, okay? You gotta calm down!"

John was there then, a gun in his hand, sleep still in his eyes. "What the hell's going on down here?"

"Blinnnnnnnnd!" Sam wailed, rocking helplessly in his brother's grasp. "I'm blinnnnnnnnnnnd!" His words trailed off into a pain-filled sob.

"Sammy." Dean whispered, rocking him gently. "Shhhh. It's gonna be okay. I promise."

But Sam continued to cry - long, loud sobs that echoed in the stark kitchen - his arms out stiff, not returning Dean's hug, but rather reaching … reaching for the light at the end of the darkness.

"Please don't let me be blind, Dean! Please! I can't! I can't stand it! It's so dark!"

"Shhh. It's okay, Sammy."

"I'm falling! Dean! I'm … I can't … help me!"

"I'm right here, little brother. I got you. I'm not gonna let you fall."

Sam began to choke. "I can't … can't breathe!" His face went from pale white to dark red in the space of an instant. "I … I … can't … breathe …" Sam's body went lax in his brother's arms. "Dean … I ... "

Dean shook his limp form in horror. "Sam? Sammy!"

Sam let out some kind of strangled hacking sound that caused Dean's heart to shatter. The older boy lowered him carefully to the floor, slapping his face gently. "Sam. Sammy, come on, man. Breathe!"

John placed his gun on the table and knelt beside his boys, wrestling Sam from his brother's grasp. "Sam!" He slapped the boy hard in the face, twice. "Breathe, dammit!"

Sam sucked in a sudden deep breath then, his upper body arching in his father's arms.

It was Dean who called the ambulance.


	29. Sucker Punch

"Traumatic glaucoma." Sam's eye doctor announced dismally as Sam sat stiff in the hospital bed, too terrified to move. The younger boy clung to his brother's arm like a lifeline, his fingers twined so tightly through Dean's that the older boy occasionally winced.

Dean kept his hand in place. What Sam was going through was so terrible that Dean could barely comprehend it. If all he could offer was his hand as comfort, he damned sure wasn't going to deny Sam that.

"It's temporary, right?" John's voice wavered a bit.

The doctor hedged. "We can treat it. The first line of defense is medication to relieve the pressure that's built up inside his eyes. If the medicine doesn't work, then the next step is surgery."

"Is the surgery guaranteed to work?" Dean asked.

The doctor sighed. "Nothing is guaranteed, son. But let's not cross that bridge until we have to, okay?"

"But Sam will get his vision back, right?" John wanted promises.

"Honestly, I don't know."

Sam whimpered, his hand flexing in Dean's.

Dean reassured him by rubbing the boy's arm.

"What are his chances?" John was close to barking. "Give us numbers, at least."

"I don't have them, John. I'm sorry. It all depends on whether scarring has occurred, and if so, how much. I suspect Sam has intraocular bleeding that caused angle recession. Typically, we don't see this much degeneration until years after the injury. The fact that Sam went downhill so quickly gives me hope that it's just a build-up of pressure that's changed the angles of drainage in his eyes. If so, his vision will return once the pressure is relieved."

John nodded, able to breathe again. "So what do we do?"

"Take him home. There's no need for him to have to remain here. We'll get him started on the antiglaucoma meds and see where they take us."

"I wanna stay here." Sam spoke up quietly.

The room fell silent.

"What was that, Sam?" The doctor asked.

"I wanna stay here. I wanna stay until I … I can see again. I can't l-leave here blind."

The man placed a comforting hand on the thirteen-year-old's shoulder. "I know it's a scary place to be right now, Sam." He said, pulling up a chair and sitting next to the bed. "But we'll start you on the medication before you leave, and then you'll come back here every week, okay? In the meantime, you have your father and your brother to look after you." The doc looked down at Dean's hand woven so tightly in his brother's. "And something tells me you're going to be well cared for." He smiled.

Sam's throat worked convulsively. "Please!" He whispered. "Please, let me stay!"

The doctor looked away, trying to gain control of his voice before speaking again. What was happening to the boy before him was one of the saddest things the man had ever witnessed.

"Sam." He stopped to clear his throat. "I'm going to give your dad the number of a counselor who specializes in helping people deal with overwhelming obstacles. She'll be able to …"

"No!" Sam screamed, wresting his hand away from Dean's and exploding from the bed. He took two steps and ran up against the edge of the open bathroom door so hard he bounced. He stumbled backward then and hit the hard wooden corner of the chair arm before coming to rest on all fours on the floor. "No! I don't wanna counselor! I want to see! Please!" It became a wail, "Please! Make me see again!"

"Shit, Sam!" Dean dropped to the floor beside his brother. It had all happened so fast, Sam was on the floor before Dean even realized he was moving. He grabbed him by his slight shoulders and pulled him up. "You're gonna see again, Sammy." He promised. "You will. But we're not leaving you here, little brother. No way." He pulled him close and rocked him gently. "You will, Sam. I know it."

Sam lost it then. He placed his forehead on his brother's shoulder and burst into pain-filled sobs. "Why, Dean?" He mourned. "Why is this happening to me? All of it? I … what did I do wrong? What? Tell me? I can't … I don't think I can take any more. Make it st-stop, Dean. Please, make it stop."

Dean's eyes closed. Sam never suffered that his brother didn't feel it like a knife in his own chest. If he could, Dean would take Sam's blindness from him without thinking twice about it. In fact, the older boy knew he would happily spend the rest of his days locked inside a world of darkness if it meant that his little brother might have light.

But this was one burden Dean knew he couldn't lift from Sam, and it broke his heart.

"Come on, Sammy." He tugged the boy up off the cold floor. "Let's take it one step at a time, okay? You take the medicine. We'll take you home. And then we'll figure it out from there, okay?" Dean reached for the box of tissues on the bed tray, and gently wiped the tears and snot away from his brother's face. "Just … one step at a time, little bro. We'll get there. I promise."

And the trauma of the day might have ended there if a young man in a three-piece suit wasn't waiting outside in the hospital corridor to engage them. When the trio stepped out of the room, Dean leading Sam by an elbow, the man stepped forward into their path.

"Are you John and Dean Winchester?" He asked in a friendly sort of way.

When Dean nodded, the man placed an envelope into each man's hand and beat a hasty retreat. "You've been served." he smiled back, winking.

As Dean stood stunned, John opened his summons and read it, his face turning a brighter shade of red by the moment.

"Son of a …" He uttered, disbelieving.

Dean frowned, afraid to look at his own. "Dad? What is it?"

"It's a summons to testify as a witness at Leslie's trial."

Dean was confused, "Weren't we going to do that anyway?" He asked.

"For Dell, Dean! We were going to testify against her. This is a summons to appear as a witness FOR the defense, not against it."

"What does that mean?" Maybe it was all the stress of last few weeks, but Dean still didn't get it.

But John was too pissed to sugarcoat it. "I think It means we testify on her behalf, Dean. FOR her and AGAINST your brother."


	30. Chapter 30

"It's not gonna happen, Dell." Dean paced around the small office. "No way in hell am I going to sit on that witness stand and talk good about that bitch."

Dell sighed. "Just tell the truth, Dean. That's all you have to do."

"Oh, you better believe I'll tell the truth. Her lawyer's not going to like it much. Why would they do this? This can't possibly help her case?"

Dell sat heavily down. "Can't it?" He asked, causing Dean to halt mid-step.

"What? No! Once the jury hears about all the shit she's done to Sam …"

"And what shit is that exactly, Dean? Tell me what you ever saw Leslie actually do to Sam."

"She ran him over with a fucking car! She burned him! She dropped a fucking China cabinet on him, and she got him sent to that hellhole. Sam's BLIND because of that red-hot bitch! They think I'm gonna keep that all to myself?"

But Dell shook his head. "I said, tell me what you saw, Dean. Not what you heard about second-hand. That's what we call hearsay, and it's not admissible in court."

"What?"

"Saw, Dean. What did you see? Did you see Leslie back over Sam with the car? See the China cabinet incident? See the burn?"

"I saw the burn." John piped up.

Dell nodded, "Did you, John? And tell me what it looked like, please? I mean, did it appear to be an accident, or was it on purpose? And you should know that regardless of how you answer, you're going to come off as a bad parent."

"The hell, Dell?" John growled, slamming a hand down on the desk. "Whose side are you on again?"

"Sam's, of course. Now answer the question."

"Of course it was intentional. She ran that hot skillet into his bare arm on purpose."

Dell nodded. "I see. And yet you still allowed her to be near your son? Still welcomed her into your home? Are those the actions of a conscientious parent, John? How many times after that did you permit Leslie Benigan access to your home? To your minor child?"

John glared.

"Now let's try it the other way. It was an accident. Does that make Leslie look guilty? Or just clumsy? Boom! You're just gotten her acquitted of all charges against your son.

John, I filed numerous civil charges against Leslie Benigan on behalf of Sam. The problem is, she's played her cards carefully from the beginning. No one can attest to what she's actually done except Sam. Never a single witness to any of it. And the worst part is, if she's acquitted on the civil charges, it's going to be much more difficult to prosecute her when her criminal trial comes up."

Dean seethed, "Well what about the cops? She told them she was his legal guardian and to lock him up and throw away the key!"

"We may be able to work with that. If … and I do mean if … it was ever documented. If not … again, hearsay."

Dean was livid. "Well, Sam then! He was right there through all of it."

Dell nodded again. "I can call Sam as a witness. But you should know that the second I do it, the defense will stand up and shout hooray."

"Why?"

"Because then they get to question him too."

John didn't see the problem. "And?"

Dell sighed. "Sam," He addressed the younger boy. "We're going to pretend this is a courtroom. You've just been called to the witness stand, and I'm Leslie's lawyer about to cross examine you, okay?"

Sam nodded.

"I want you to tell the truth, and only the truth. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Mr. Winchester, did you ever tell anyone that you didn't think Leslie's accidents with you were intentional? That you just thought she was clumsy instead?"

Sam thought back.

"Uh, I'm not sure?"

"No? Well let me refresh your memory." And Dell picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk and leafed through them.

"On the night before your birthday, did Leslie Benigan ask you to help her move a China cabinet and subsequently lose her grip on it, allowing it to fall onto your foot?"

"Yes."

"And did your brother ask you about it later?"

"Yes."

"How did he know to ask? Did you tell him you'd been hurt?"

"No, he, uh, he saw the bandage."

"So you bandaged your toe after?"

"Oh, uh, no."

"No? Who did?"

"Leslie."

"That same Leslie who you would now like us to believe has been trying to intentionally hurt you? I see."

"And when Dean expressed concern that maybe she dropped the cabinet on your foot on purpose, do you remember what you said?"

Sam shook his head.

"How convenient." Dell said scathingly. Then he read word for word from the papers. "It really isn't intentional, Dean. I know it's not. I don't know why she gets so uncomfortable around me. I feel it too. I just don't have that connection that you and Dad have with her. Maybe she's not used to being around kids, you know? Lots of people get nervous around teenagers."

"But …" Sam tried to interrupt.

Dell cut him off. "No commentary is needed. Just answer the questions as I pose them, or I'll ask the judge to hold you in contempt. Are we jogging your memory now?"

"Uh, I guess."

"You guess? Well, that's something, I suppose. So later that same night, Leslie prepared dinner, did she not?"

"Yes."

"And did you find it to your liking?"

Sam swallowed hard, "Yes."

"And why is that?"

"She, uh, she made it all salad."

"I see. And you like salad, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Would you say it's your favorite food?"

Sam nodded.

"Speak up please. The stenographer can't hear you nodding.

"Yes, I like salad."

"So, was it just a bowl of lettuce with some cheese on top?"

"No, it .. it was a whole salad bar."

"Now, when you say it was a whole salad bar, can you name the ingredients?"

"Uh, sure. There was a couple kinds of lettuce, black olives, sunflower seeds, croutons, bacon crumbles, I think."

"And …?"

"And, uh, some dressings, shredded cheeses, stuff like that."

"So Leslie set all this salad stuff up where? On the kitchen table?"

"No, she had the table set for us to eat at. She lined all the food up on a camping table."

"Now does your father always keep a camping table in his kitchen?"

"No."

"So where did it come from?"

"I don't know."

"No? Well, allow me to enlighten you. Leslie Benigan bought that table two days earlier at the local Walmart. She paid $49.54 for it - charged it to her own credit card. Now did she ever ask you to reimburse her that expense?"

"No."

"No. She didn't. Did you ever think to ask her where the table came from?"

"No."

"No. Is that because you didn't notice? Or because you just didn't care?"

Sam's eyes teared, and Dean exploded.

"That's enough. You've made your damned point."

Dell sat down. "Oh, believe me, Dean, I haven't even gotten started. This is nothing compared to what the defense will do to Sam. He downplayed the whole thing from the beginning because he wanted his father to be happy, and he thought Leslie was the one who made him that way. As Leslie's attorney, the defense has full access to all of your statements. This one I just read from was Sam's statement he gave me the day you retained my services. They also have an audio tape of Sam trying to reach you by phone from the precinct and of your phone not picking up. Then they have a tape of Sam talking to Leslie. In it, she sounds like the perfect concerned parent and vows to come pick Sam up immediately."

"She never came though." Sam argued softly.

"Sure she did. Your father can attest to that fact, Sam. She picked him up and the two of them left you behind."

John rose, ready to argue, but Dell held up a hand.

"You've been claiming all along, John, that you are Sam's legal guardian. Yet when it came time to bail him out, you what? Forgot about him? Where exactly were you when Leslie was telling the sergeant to send Sam to Medina? How exactly did you miss that? Because if you missed it, you can bet the defense is going to argue that it never happened. Because what father misses something like that?"

He held up both hands. "I'm just trying to prepare you for what's coming. Best-case scenario, we keep Sam off the stand, and you two simply go in and tell the truth as Leslie has staged it. It's going to hurt - probably Sam more than either of you - but hearing you testify will be less of a blow than seeing one or the both of you behind bars for perjury."


	31. Blindsided

"The Defense calls Dean Winchester."

Dean took a deep breath and placed a comforting hand on Sam's arm as he passed the table where Dell and his brother sat. He smiled down at the boy in the dark glasses even though he knew Sam couldn't see him.

The older boy settled himself in the witness stand, shot Leslie a glare, and let himself be sworn in as his testimony began.

"Your honor?" Leslie's lawyer began, "Permission to treat this witness as hostile?"

"Objection!" Dell was on his feet. "The witness must first prove he's hostile."

"I tend to agree with Mr. Singer on this one, Mr. Barrie. Explain your reasoning."

"The witness is the older brother of Sam Winchester, and the two have a … closer than usual … relationship. He's had private communications with my client to which the court needs to be privy."

The judge nodded. "You have permission. However, if I don't see any antagonism coming from any of Mr. Winchester's answers, I'll revoke that privilege. Let's be clear."

"Overruled."

"Thank you, your honor." Barrie turned to face Dean. He held a file in his hand.

"So Dean …" He dragged out his question theatrically. "State your relationship to The Prosecution."

"Sam is my brother."

"And to The Defense?"

"No relationship there. She was just some woman my dad was dating. One in a long line of many." Dean smiled sweetly over at her.

Barrie chuckled. "I see. But, moving back to your brother … he gets hurt a lot, doesn't he?"

Dean frowned, anger beginning to form. "What do you mean by that?"

Barrie shrugged, pinning Dean with a stare. "I mean he gets hurt. A lot. I have his medical files right here." He opened the manila folder and proceeded to read down it." He feigned surprise at what he saw. "Now, remind The Court again. How old is Sam Winchester?"

"He's thirteen, just a kid, really."

"Um hm, but in thirteen year's time, this kid … he looked over at the jury … this kid, according to the file that I'm holding in my hand, has received more than 238 stitches over various parts of his body. Now this was before he ever met my client, Miss Benigan."

The jury gave a collective gasp.

Barrie turned back to Dean. "How do you explain that?"

Dean smiled, "Normal kid stuff, I guess."

"Normal kid stuff, Dean? Was it that normal kid stuff that also accounted for, let me see," Barrie ran his finger down the file, his lips moving as though he was counting. "For the five broken bones and multiple knife wounds that Sam managed to get doing normal kid stuff? Or for photos like these?" Barrie held up a hospital picture of Sam.

"Objection!" Dell stood. "The prosecution is not the one on trial here."

"Overruled."

Dean recognized it instantly. It had been taken after a particularly brutal wendigo hunt up in Montana. In it, Sam looked to be about nine years old. He had a large, bloody gash that stretched from the base of his neck to nearly his elbow. It was from the beast's claw, but it looked for all the world like a knife wound.

"You recognize this photo, don't you, Dean?"

Dean pushed his anger down. How dare he expose Sam this way. The boy was naked in the photo, covered with only a small towel. "Yes." He said shortly.

"Sure you do. You're the one who brought him to the ER that night. Now, what story did you tell them about how Sam received this injury?"

"Objection! The prosecution assumes the witness lied."

"Sustained." The judge agreed. "Mr. Barrie, allow the witness to answer before making your assumptions."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor." He turned back to Dean. "What did you tell the hospital staff that night when they asked you how your brother had received this particular injury?"

"Swimming."

"Swimming? Sam did this much damage swimming? Did he meet up with a shark?" Barrie asked incredulous.

Sam dove into water that was too shallow. He dragged along a sharp rock."

"Oh. I see. Did the hospital staff notice that his hair was dry?" Barrie held the photo up again.

"It was a hot night. I drove Sam with the windows down."

Barrie studied Dean. "That was convenient, wasn't it?"

"Objection!"

"Sustained."

"Mr. Barrie." The judge sighed, "Was there a question in there somewhere?"

"There is, Your Honor. Please bear with me." he turned back to Dean.

"Dean, Sam's medical history is disturbing to say the least, and I have to ask - do you enjoy hurting your brother?"

"Objection!"

But Dean was on his feet. "You got a lot of nerve, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Mr. Winchester, I would advise you sit down and keep a civil tongue in your mouth or I'll hold you in contempt of this court." The judge noted calmly. "Overruled. I would like to hear the answer."

Dean sat, glaring at the lawyer who would dare even ask that question. "I would never hurt my brother. I'd die myself first."

Barrie nodded, "Your father then?"

Dean gritted his teeth. "Dad would never hurt Sam either."

"Dean, tell me this. Before your father met Leslie Benigan, did anyone else ever live in the house with you? A roommate perhaps? A family member? Anyone?"

"No."

"No? So until Leslie, it was always just you, your father, and Sam. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Yet Sam had all these injuries? So many, in fact, that taking into account his current age," He faced the jury dramatically, "young Sam Winchester has averaged a total of 10 to 12 hospital visits each year - all before he ever met my client."

Another collective gasp.

"This leads me one conclusion, Dean. If you're not hurting Sam, and your father isn't hurting him, and there's no one else inside the home that could be hurting him … then he's hurting himself, isn't he?"

"Objection! Leading the witness!"

"No!" Sam's voice rang out over the pandemonium. "No! I wouldn't do that!" Sam, Dell and John were all on their feet. Dean was on his feet.

The judge clapped her gavel down, trying to restore order, and Dell knew then.

It was all over.


	32. Coming Clean

Dean, John and Dell sat at the kitchen table, drinking beer and coffee. Sam sat in the easy chair next to the bookcase, listening.

"I can't believe the jury believed that bullshit." John burst out, tipping his bottle all the way back.

Dell shook his head dismally, "All comes down to reasonable doubt. If there's even a chance that Sam could be causing his own injuries - no matter how remote - they had to let her off."

John sighed, "So what happens now?"

"Now she goes up on the criminal charges. We've probably hurt that case though. It will be more difficult to prove now."

John snorted, "Of course it will. Why wouldn't it?"

Sam heard what they were saying, but he let his mind drift away. They thought he'd hurt himself. After all those years of always trying to do right and to be strong and to make it through the hunt without getting himself or anyone else killed, it all boiled down to this.

The jury thought that Sam had done this damage to himself.

And as a result, Leslie would never have to pay for what she'd done to them - to John, to Sam, to Dean.

It was so unfair.

Everything he'd been through these past few months was unfair - the pain of the injuries, the feeling like he was letting Dad down if he told and letting Dean down if he didn't, then the … the lockup. And now he was blind, probably forever, and nobody was being forced to pay for it. Sam had no closure. All he had was an ever-increasing feeling like he didn't matter. He must be insignificant to be made to suffer over and over like this with no relief, no justice, in sight.

And if he didn't matter, then he had to stop telling himself that he did because the pain of being proven wrong over and over again was just too much to bear.

Sam couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't. He didn't matter. None of it mattered.

He pulled himself to his feet and felt for the stair railing. He climbed slowly up and made his way to the shared bedroom where he curled up with Shallie and cried for the boy who used to be somebody.

###

Dean was still to angry to participate in the conversation. The nerve of that guy saying that Sam hurt himself. And then the idiocy of the jury believing it.

Dean wanted to cry. Sam just couldn't cut a single, damned break.

And then that photo. Damn.

What kind of life was this for him anyway?

He was suddenly overrun by the urge to toss his little brother in the car and just drive him away from all this - just leave Anaheim in the rear view and never look back.

This whole fucking year had been a total write off.

Sam should have spent this year making new friends at school, meeting up with them throughout the summer, surfing and playing video games and talking about girls.

Instead, he'd spent it swathed in bandages, fighting off sexual assaults and fearing for his damned life.

Oh, and playing therapist to his wrecked older brother.

What fun.

Sam didn't have a life. He had a fucking movie-of-the-week.

Dean rose and made his way into the living room to try and console the one person who meant the most to him, and he was surprised to find him gone. Ever since he'd lost his sight, Sam pretty much stayed where Dean put him until someone came to fetch him. Not healthy, for sure. But at least Dean always knew where to find him.

Dean frowned and headed for the stairs.

He knocked twice, "Sammy? You in here?"

Sniffles. Then Sam's voice sounding small and all congested. "Yeah."

Dean pushed the door open and stepped inside. Sam was on his bed, the little dog at his back. Sam was facing away from the door and curled up into a long, tall ball of misery. Dean could tell he'd been crying. The older boy sighed quietly and moved to sit behind his brother.

"Sammy …" He began.

But Sam cut him off. "Don't."

"What?"

"I don't know. Just … don't?"

"Don't talk to you?" Dean frowned. Sam was never cruel like that.

Sam sighed, "No, I mean." He paused. "I don't know what I mean."

Dean placed a warm hand on his brother's shoulder, "Come on, man. Tell me what's bouncing around inside that geek brain of yours, hunh?"

Sam snorted, "Not anymore."

"What's that mean?"

"It means I don't have a geek brain anymore, Dean. A geek is someone who's smart, who's good with technology. Pretty sure you can't use that word to describe me anymore."

Dean's heart fractured a bit at that confession, but he didn't let on. "No? Well what words should I use to describe you then?"

Sam shrugged.

"Sam? Come on. Tell me."

"Just ... I just want some time alone, Dean, please?"

"Nuh uh. I know you're sitting up here beating yourself up over stuff you can't control. I know you, Sam."

"Funny, it doesn't feel like I'm the one doing the beating. Pretty sure life is taking care of that without any help from me." Sam sat up, his head hanging.

Dean studied his once-proud brother - the kid who couldn't wait to talk about a good grade he'd earned or praise he'd received from a teacher. Sam was the kid who could park himself for hours in front of a laptop, just taking in useless knowledge because it interested him. He lived to read books and to learn new things and to show off his ever-growing vocabulary to an older brother who pretended to be annoyed but who was secretly bursting with pride. He shoulder-bumped him.

"Come on. Describe yourself. I wanna hear it."

Sam sighed, "Dean …"

"I mean it, Sam. I wanna hear it - every rotten thought you're feeding yourself right now."

Sam was quiet. "You really don't."

"Do."

Sam smiled a little. "Don't."

"Yes hunh."

Sam snorted, "What are you, ten?"

"Maybe."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Blind, I guess."

"That's temporary. What else?"

"Wronged."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, I'll give you that one."

"Useless. Weak. Stupid."

"Hold up."

But Sam continued, "Insignificant. Unloved. Abused. Used. Hated."

"Sammy, wait …" Dean tried to interject, but Sam was on a roll now, his voice hitching.

"Maybe ugly, beaten, misunderstood, groped, only good for one thing."

"That's enough." Dean was pissed.

Sam stopped and the room grew quiet. To his embarrassment, he was unable to stifle the sob that struggled to break free.

"I tried to tell you … you didn't wanna hear." Sam hitched.

Dean sighed. He twined the fingers of his left hand into his brother's right. "Sammy, I … I know things are rough right now. Shit, most people who'd been through what you've been through these last months would be sittin' in a mental ward somewhere. But here you are, still fighting the good fight. You're strong, you know. Stronger than me. Stronger than Dad."

Sam snorted, "Right."

"Yeah, right. And what's this shit about feeling unloved, anyway?"

Sam blushed pink, shrugging. "I don't know why I said that. Just forget it, okay?"

"No, I'm not gonna just forget it. You're feeling that way, I need to know why." He hesitated, "I mean, you know that's not true, right?"

Sam shrugged.

"Sam?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. I mean, I know I shouldn't, but I sorta feel like … like …"

"Like what?"

"You know … like Dad … like he chose Leslie over me. I mean, they left me there, Dean. They just left! How could Dad do that?"

Dean squeezed his hand. "Maybe you should ask Dad about that one, Sam. I'm not sure … I don't know how that happened either. But you know, if my phone hadn't crapped out, I'd have been there in a hot minute? I mean, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I'd have never let them ship you out like that. Not in a million years. You're my pain-in-the-ass little brother. I need you around, right?"

"I guess."

"And ugly? Are you kidding?"

Sam smiled, "Guess I was pretty popular at Medina."

Dean stiffened, "Again, Sam. Not funny."

"And what's this … this only good for one thing shit? That better be for bein' a geek, cause if you meant what I think you meant, I'll kick your ass, blind or not."

Sam was silent, drawing in on himself.

"Sam? Tell me. What's going on."

Sam took a breath. "That … that first night at the police station."

"Yeah?"

"I had a cellie."

Dean tensed. This was completely new information.

"And?"

"And he was freakin' huge, Dean. Scary as shit."

Dean felt his blood begin to boil. He was terrified of where this was going.

"What happened, Sammy?"

"He wanted my hoodie."

"Did you give it to him?"

"No, I told him to fuck off."

"Did he?"

"He, uh, said he'd rather, uh, fuck me."

"I'll kill the motherfucker, Sam." Dean shot to his feet, took a swipe at his eyes, and began to pace. "I will. I swear. You give me a name or a description or anything."

Sam sat silent, shoulders hunching impossibly closer together.

Dean forced himself to sit back down. "So, is that what happened?" He asked, unable to look at the boy whom he'd been unable to protect.

"No." Sam whispered. "I mean, he tried. I think he was gonna. But the guard finally came. He, uh, he pulled him off me. It's just …"

Dean had to look away because he didn't want his little brother to see him cry.

"Just what?" Dean croaked, hoarsely.

"Just, you know. His hands. They were everywhere. I lost my … my shirt. He took it." The younger boy shivered. "I can still feel his hands, you know?"

Dean nodded, unable to speak.

Sam risked a glance over and sighed. "I shouldn't have told you. I'm sorry. Now you're just as miserable as me."

Dean looked up, one eye running over. He noted the sad, despondent look on his little brother's face and knew there was no way he could make it better.

He'd failed.

That was the only thought that circled through his mind over and over again - he'd failed Sam - failed him miserably.

Dean stood up and walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him.


	33. Sam Sits

Sam sat.

That was pretty much his move now.

Since that night he'd bared his soul to Dean, and the older boy had gotten up and walked away, things had changed.

He knew for certain now that he was nothing but a burden.

If he still had his sight, he'd have cut and run - just to give Dean and his dad a break.

Cause looking out for Sammy was a lot harder these days than it used to be.

Dean was sorry. Sam could tell. He'd tried a numerous times to make it up to Sam for that night, but Sam was intent on pretending nothing was wrong.

"Oh, you walked out on me after I placed my heart sliced open and bleeding at your feet? Gosh, I hadn't noticed."

Dean had always been there for Sam. Always. Had gotten himself fucking locked up so he could be there for him. Sam wasn't about to fault him the first time the older boy felt the need to distance himself from the debacle that was his little brother's life now.

Sam harbored no ill will. He just wished a star would fucking drop on him and finish it already. Because really, that felt entirely possible these days.

Leslie's trial came and went.

Sam sat.

Ben testified to the things she'd done, the way she'd sacrificed him just as she'd once sacrificed Sam.

The jury wasn't moved.

Leslie was acquitted of all charges.

That's when Sam had begun sitting in earnest. Of course she was acquitted.

At least Ben earned his freedom. The way Sam heard it, Ben had gotten the apology from the judge too, and he remembered wondering why it wouldn't just be easier to lock Leslie away than it would be to keep apologizing to kids on behalf of the state of California.

But, hey, none of his business.

John applied for a protective order for Sam against Leslie, and Dell explained that orders of protection worked as well as holding the paper they were printed on in front of your face to stop a bullet.

They were highly enforceable after the fact.

Of course, that meant Sam had to die first.

But hey, why not?

Maybe that would grab someone's attention.

No wait, this was Sam Winchester.

Never mind.

And then Dell pointed out that Leslie was trained on all kinds of high-powered weaponry. If she wanted Sam dead, she had no need to come within 100 yards of him.

"If only." Sam thought.

The eye doctor was disappointed that Sam's sight hadn't returned, and he tried to schedule a surgery.

But Sam knew it wouldn't matter, and he refused to cooperate.

Dean even threatened to knock him out and carry him to the surgery hog-tied and gagged, but Sam just smiled and shook his head.

"What was that? Hope? Oh, no thanks. I'll pass."

There was no hope on any horizon for Sam Winchester.

Sam sat.

He refused to shower, to brush his teeth, to comb his hair.

He didn't interact with Shallie anymore, and the little dog was heartbroken. He just sat at Sam's feet and whined on occasion.

He looked like Sam felt.

But Sam couldn't find the energy to care at all, not about the sad little noises that came from Shallie, not about the worried looks John and Dean exchanged constantly. One day, it sounded like Dean fell down right in front of him, his knees just collapsing forward and landing the older boy painfully on his tailbone on the hardwood floor. It sounded like it really hurt and like it took Dean a while to get his bearings and to pull himself up.

Sam sat.

They brought a therapist round after that, but Sam couldn't remember how to talk to her.

Dean was scared. Sam could tell, but his fear seemed far away and disconnected like it belonged to someone else. Sam felt he should probably feel bad when Dean took his hand and knelt on the floor beside him and cried like his heart was breaking.

It didn't though. It just felt … distant.

They had to hire someone to help Dean with his physical therapy in the mornings because, really, Sam was too busy sitting.

It took up all of his time.

Dean fed Sam smoothies five times a day. He used a straw because Sam couldn't remember how to use a spoon. Dean put all kinds of weird, potent shit in them - flax seed, cucumbers, carrots, avocado. They tasted dreadful, but Sam drank them all down without complaint, partly because he felt bad that Dean was trying so hard and partly because fighting about it was too much trouble.

The therapist came again and tossed around words like psychosis and institutionalized, but Dean just looked mad and yelled and pushed her toward the door, slamming and locking it behind her. He knelt down by Sam then and picked up the smoothie that set on the tray beside Sam's chair. Dean smiled as he swiped at his eyes and placed the end of the straw in Sam's mouth, and Sam sipped.

He sipped and sat and wondered how much longer it would be til the blissful nothingness of death claimed him.

 _ **Author's Note:** Two-hundred reviews! Thank you so much. This is my first fic that has ever garnered 200 reviews. It's such an exciting milestone, and I appreciate each and every piece of feedback. Everything I know about the law and courtrooms I learned from watching SVU reruns :) And I'm sure if anyone who actually does know the law ever reads this story, they'll cringe, but thanks for the kudos regardless. It's good to know I can fake it convincingly. Thanks for hanging in there! Things really will get better for Sam. I promise :)_


	34. Crazy Love

Leslie hummed.

She hummed the song that had played on the gun shop's music track the day she'd first seen John Winchester.

 _Crazy Love_.

She sang softly.

" _She got a fine sense of humor, when I'm feelin' down._

 _And I'm runnin' to her, when the sun goes down._

 _She takes away my trouble. She takes away my grief._

 _She takes away my heartache, and I go right to sleep."_

She would be that for John.

She remembered everything about that first day - the smile in John's eyes when he'd greeted her, the way the sun had glinted off the distinguished gray at his temples.

Her eyes closed.

She remembered the softness of his hair, the taste of his lips, the feel of his body close to hers as they swayed gently to some old country song at the little bar across the street from the gun shop.

She thought about the constant buzz of activity that surrounded the man. He was always moving, always doing, always accomplishing.

Inclusion in John Winchester's universe was exciting. It was addicting.

She needed it like she needed the air that she breathed.

Leslie opened her eyes and shivered.

It was hard losing a son.

" _She takes away my trouble. She takes away my grief."_

She'd help him through it. He would forget in time.

In the meantime, she worked part-time at the little market in town, mostly organizing inventory in the back where no Winchester would see her when they stopped in. She didn't need the job, well, at least, not in the traditional sense.

Leslie smiled to herself as she carefully mixed the Ketamine into the flax seed and placed the jar inside the bag slated for delivery to the Winchester place out on Old Route 40. Sam was the only one in the house who'd touch the stuff. She remembered a good-natured fight the two boys had entered into on the topic one day a few months back. If the Winchesters were ordering flax seed, there was only one place it was going.

She wished she could see the results of her efforts.

Soon.

Leslie sang along quietly in the stillness of the market in the pre-opening hours.

" _Yes, I want to throw my arms around her._

 _Kiss and hug her, and I kiss and hug her tight."_

She shivered, smiling … remembering.


	35. Evidence

Sam could no longer sip from the straw that Dean offered, even when the older boy held it for him, and if he didn't get his liquids intravenously, he would die of thirst within days.

Dean sat by his hospital bed and held his hand, not believing it had come to this. It had been so long since he'd heard his brother laugh or even speak - weeks since Sam had raised his head toward Dean's voice or acknowledged his father in any way.

The older boy missed him more than he could say. Sam was the other half of his heart. They'd been together through everything imaginable - always there to prop each other up, apply bandages, and soothe wounds both physical and emotional. These last few weeks, Dean had felt adrift, like there was nothing anchoring him. He took no enjoyment from life, looked forward to nothing. Every day was just an endless cycle of spinning smoothies, trying to get Sam to eat them, and then caring for his needs because he no longer could.

It was an intimate task, and Dean wouldn't let John help. He knew Sam would hate being this helpless in front of his father, and the older boy was determined to spare him that, just in case Sam really was aware of what was going on around him.

It was while Dean was giving in to these disparaging thoughts that the door to Sam's hospital room slammed open, and two nurses flew in pushing a gurney between them. Dean leaped to his feet, stepping back as the nurses took charge.

"What's going on?" John asked, alarmed at their frantic movements.

"Step back, please. We're moving him to ICU." They quickly moved Sam from his bed to the gurney, untangled his IVs and pushed him out the door, with a bewildered Dean and John following along behind.

"ICU? Why?" John demanded.

"John," Sam's doctor waylaid them. John stopped, but Dean stayed with the gurney, following it into the elevator and meeting his father's eyes in one last, desperate glance before the doors closed in front of him.

"What's going on?"

The physician eyed him sharply, trying to read him. "John, Sam is in danger. He's in very real danger of dying as we speak. They've taken him up to ICU. They're going to put him on a respirator to ensure that he doesn't stop breathing."

John stood, stunned. "What the hell? What's wrong with him?"

"He's been poisoned."

###

"Ketamine? What the hell is Ketamine?" John asked, standing outside his son's room in ICU. Dean stood beside him, watching through the glass as nurses hooked Sam up to what looked like 40 different machines.

"It's sometimes used as a recreational drug. Kids take it to get buzzed, but it's really a tranquilizer - strong enough that it's used for anesthesia." Sam's doctor explained.

"Well, how did he get it? Is it something someone gave him at Medina?"

The doctor shook his head. "Judging from his bloodwork, Sam likely ingested his last dose sometime yesterday. He had near-lethal levels of the drug in his bloodstream. It's what's causing his psychosis."

John stared. "I don't understand. Sam has been too sick to move from his chair for weeks. We thought he was depressed. How's he getting it?"

"Someone's giving it to him. It's the only explanation."

John looked at Dean, "But … one of us is always with him. He's never alone?"

The doctor looked from one Winchester to the other. In the short amount of time he'd been seeing Sam, he'd become familiar with his family, and he was 99 percent certain that the surprise he was seeing was genuine.

Whoever was hurting this boy, his family knew nothing about it.

"What's the last thing Sam ate and when?"

John had to prompt Dean to speak. The older boy's attention was still on his brother.

"Uh … yesterday. I made him a smoothie." he answered absently.

The doctor's eyes narrowed, "A smoothie? What kind?"

"Uh, apple, banana, orange. I tossed in some honey and flax seed and half an avocado and some crushed ice."

"Is that the only thing Sam ate or drank yesterday?"

Dean shrugged, "It took me all day to get that into him. He can only take a sip at a time. He had some bottled water too."

The doctor nodded. "The police are going to want samples of everything you put in that last drink, son."

Dean looked up, nodding, tears in his eyes. "So what happens now? Can you help him?"

The doctor nodded, "Sam's condition is grave. We'll give him some medication to counteract the Ketamine. Get him on a ventilator so he's not in respiratory distress. Then we'll just take it an hour at a time."

"Will he …?" Dean couldn't continue.

The doctor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll do all we can for him, son. That's all I can promise. Sam's not in any pain - hasn't been in awhile. Ketamine does that - anesthetizes the body. Too much can cause the heart to relax to the point that it no longer pumps, hence the respirator.

"How long til we know?" John rubbed a hand over his face.

"It could be surprisingly quick. Could take weeks. With this type of long-term poisoning, people react differently. We'll know when Sam begins to come around. If he begins to come around."

"So the damage could be permanent, is what you're saying?" John clarified.

"Let's not go that route just yet. Sam's young, strong, resilient. He has a better chance than most of making at least a partial recovery."

Dean frowned, looking up, "You said long-term?"

"Long-term, yes. To have the blood levels of Ketamine that Sam's showing, he's been getting the drug in small increments over time."

"How much time?"

The doctor shrugged, "Weeks maybe?"

Dean looked exasperated, "But he's been home these last two weeks. Only with Dad and I? How could this have happened without either of us knowing?"

"That's probably something the police are going to want to ask you, son."

###

Dean stopped to retrieve the box of groceries that the delivery kid from the market had left by the front door as John unlocked it and led the two police officers into the house. The four of them headed directly for the kitchen.

They addressed Dean. "Could you show us what you put in your brother's drink yesterday? Every ingredient?"

Dean nodded, setting the box on the counter. He dug through the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of apples, one orange, the flax seed, a bottle of water, and an avocado. From the countertop next to the sink, he retrieved the last three bananas and from the cupboard, a jar of honey. He stood looking at the collection. "This is it. I used the blender there behind you. He retrieved a single dirty glass from the sink. "This is Sam's glass."

The policemen nodded. One slipped the drinking glass into an evidence bag while the other slipped on gloves and began placing the fruits and vegetables into another. He smiled when he came to the near-empty jar of flax seed. "My son used to swear by this stuff when he was on the track team. Used to make me sprinkle it on everything I cooked for him." He removed the lid and glanced inside, a frown forming.

"How long have you had this flax seed?" He asked, squinting into the jar.

Dean looked over, "Coupla weeks. It's about all gone. I just ordered another jar yesterday. Why?"

The officer shook the jar. "You keep it refrigerated?" He held it up to inspect the date printed on the glass.

"Yeah. Why? What's going on?"

"I've just never seen it look like this before. The flax seed I recognize. What's the white powder?"

All four men made the same conclusion at the same time, exchanging looks.

The second officer grimaced, "You said you just ordered more?"

Dean nodded, face pale. He reached into the box that had been sitting by the front door and pulled out the new jar, handing it to the officer.

The man held it up. "Seal's gone." He screwed the lid off carefully and looked inside, showing it to the other officer.

The same white powdery residue was threaded through the flax seed.

"Where'd you get this?" The second officer asked grimly.

"Dugan's." John answered. They're the only place in town willing to deliver out here, and we haven't been able to leave Sam …"


	36. Vigil

Three days.

Sam had been in ICU, his body detoxing from the Ketamine, for three days. In that time, only his ventilator had been removed. The boy was still unconscious, unable to respond to his family, his face pale and drawn.

And Dean was dying inside. According to Sam's doctor, the longer the boy remained unconscious, the worse his chances for a complete recovery became.

This might be it. This might be the final tailspin that his little brother couldn't pull out of.

He'd been through so much, and he was so young, and he'd fought so hard.

Dean's heart broke in smaller and smaller pieces every day.

If there was anyone in the world who didn't deserve this, it was Sammy. Sammy, with his sunny smile and warm hugs and his goofy sense of humor. Sammy, who loved dogs and books and all things green and leafy. Sam - the boy who'd spent every day he could helping Dean get his legs back under him and who had been willing to endure physical pain to give his father a second chance at love.

This couldn't happen. It just couldn't. Not to Sam. Not to them.

Dean leaned in and reapplied the Chapstick to his brother's dried lips. They looked positively painful, and Dean was damned if he'd allow chapped and bleeding lips to add to his brother's discomfort.

Like he wasn't suffering enough already.

"Hey, Sammy. Got some more Chapstick for ya, little bro. You gotta wake up for us and start takin' care of this stuff yourself, you hear? I ain't you're damned nursemaid, right? Why don't you open your eyes for me, bud? Please, Sammy? Can you open your eyes? Talk to me? Squeeze my hand? Something?"

Nothing.

Just silence, interrupted by the occasional beeps and blips of the machines that monitored his brother's steady decline.

Dean sat back down in his chair, pulled up close beside his brother's bed. It was where he'd been for the last three days, and it was where he'd stay until Sam no longer needed him - until he either got better or …

Dean choked off a strangled noise. He couldn't go there. He just couldn't. He stood back up and gently lifted his brother's lifeless hand. He leaned in and rearranged Sam's silky bangs, smiling.

"You look like hell, kid. You better get yourself awake, or I just might take a mind to shave this mop right off. Save the nurses all that time and money they've been spending on dry shampoo for your hairy self. What would you think of that, hunh? How about a nice buzz cut? Maybe a high and tight? I could make you look almost as handsome as your stud of a big brother. Just need a little hair gel is all."

Dean studied the younger boy. He looked so damned small and young lying there helpless, dwarfed by sheets and pillows and machines. He remembered everything Sam had been through this last year - all the trauma, the fear, the sadness. All the times Sam had been forced to fight for his life and his virtue, all the people who'd failed him, all the times he'd pushed his own needs to the back burner to help his big brother down the steps or out of bed or to the bathroom.

And always with a smile on his face. Always willing to compromise. Always careful not to let Dean feel ashamed or embarrassed or needy. It was just a way Sam had about him.

Sammy was a giver. Had been since he was old enough to know how.

Dean turned away and ran his fist into the wall next to the window.

It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't.


	37. Revelation

John and Dean stood as the officers entered the small hospital conference room, both torn between wanting to hear the news and wanting to get back to Sam.

"Well, what can you tell us?" John asked.

"Let's sit." the older officer suggested, taking a seat at the small table and motioning his partner to do the same.

Both Winchesters sat down and gazed at the officers expectantly.

"None of the remaining flax seed in stock at Dugan's was affected. We obtained a search warrant and looked the place over, but no sign of Ketamine powder either."

"So what happens now?" Dean demanded, wanting justice.

"Just hang on there, son. I wasn't finished." The man held up a hand. "The next step was questioning the employees and anyone who had access to the store's inventory. That included the owner, Mrs. Dugan, and three part-time employees: Ralph Middy, Taylor Hocking, and Leslie Benigan …"

But that was as far as he got. Both John and Dean were on their feet, eyes blazing. "That white-hot bitch!" Dean exploded.

Both officers rose to their feet in surprise, frowns evident.

John's fury bordered on lethal. "I have a restraining order against Leslie Benigan on behalf of my son. You should know that. How do you not know that?"

"If you'll calm down and take a deep breath, I'd like to finish." The officer said coldly. "We're well aware of your son's history with Leslie Benigan - the civil suit. We're also aware that she was charged with the murder of Jorge Martinez and acquitted."

"Who's Jorge Martinez?"

"You may have known him as George Martin. You used to work for him, I believe."

John nodded. "So? Do you have her in custody?"

The man sat back down, shaking his head. "We don't, unfortunately. A search of her apartment turned up Ketamine powder - the same type that was found in the flax seed. Ms. Benigan, however, seems to have disappeared."

John stared, dumbfounded.

"But you know she did this, right?" Dean asked, red-faced. "She's not getting away this time?"

The officer nodded, "That's what it's looking like. There's a warrant out for her arrest. I should warn you though, it appears she has some pretty powerful ties."

John's eyes narrowed, "What kind of ties?"

"Ties to organized crime. We're certain she knows how to disappear, but we're doing everything we can to find her. We're hoping you can help us?"

John shook his head. "The last time I saw her was in court. We're not exactly keeping company after she tried to kill my son."

"Why is she so fixated on Sam Winchester?" the younger officer asked.

John shrugged. "You'd have to ask her. We … we dated for awhile. I think maybe she saw Sam as a threat?"

"Just Sam? Not your other son?"

Dean spoke up. "I can take care of myself. Sam's just a kid. She didn't want to be bothered with him."

"She said that?"

"No. But she alluded to it."

"In what way?"

"She said Dad was close-mouthed. That she didn't know he even had sons til later. Then she told me some story about how Samuel Colt had a brother who'd killed himself. She said the family was the better for it. Creepy as shit." Dean shuddered. "She was downright hostile to Sam sometimes - accused him of thinking she was trying to poison him." Dean paused, realizing what he'd just said. "Holy shit. I guess she was."

"So if Ms. Benigan only had a problem with Sam, how did she know neither of you would ingest the flaxseed?"

Dean's eyes widened. "We … Sam and me … we argued about it a few times. He wanted me to try it. I said it looked like dirt and probably tasted worse. Said I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. Said Dad wouldn't either."

The officer nodded, "She was present at the time?"

"Yeah."

"All right. I think we have enough for now. Unless either of you have an idea of where she might be?"

Both Winchesters shook their heads.

"Okay then, we'll be in touch." They nodded and exited.

Dean turned to his father. "She's still after him, Dad? What the hell is her problem?"

But John's mind was far away. He patted Dean on the shoulder, heading for the door. "Son, you head back to Sam, okay? There's something I have to do."

And he was gone.


	38. Waking Up

Dean startled.

Something had awakened him. He shifted in the uncomfortable chair and looked toward the window.

Night had fallen.

He must have been asleep for hours, and apparently, Dad still wasn't back from his mysterious errand.

Dean stretched and glanced toward the bed, freezing.

Sam stared back at him, small smile on his face.

Dean shot to his feet, bolting to the bedside.

"Sammy! You're awake!"

Sam smiled wider, "Dean." He said, voice scratchy from neglect.

"You're awake and talking!" Dean grinned, giving his brother's hand a squeeze.

Sam frowned, swallowing hard, "Thirsty." He put a hand to his throat.

"I'll get you some water. Oh, hell yeah, you're thirsty!" Dean poured a cup from the ever-present pitcher that sat on Sam's bedside table. He helped position the straw so his brother could sip.

"Careful now. Not too much. It's been a while."

Sam let the straw slip from between his lips and smiled again, "You're wearing my shirt." He noted.

Dean flushed, suddenly embarrassed. He was wearing one of Sam's old hoodies. It just made him feel more connected somehow … then it hit him, and his eyes went wide.

"You can see me? Sam! You can see?"

"I can see. It's just a little out-of-focus maybe. But good enough. What … what happened to me, Dean? I remember being in a chair, wishing I could get up and walk around. At least, I think it's a memory. Shallie …?"

"He's fine, Sammy. Shallie's cool. He misses you though. We all did. You … uh ... you've been real sick for a while now."

Dean saw the surprise surface in his brother's eyes. "How long? What's wrong with me?"

"Too long, Sam. Weeks. But you're better now. Just focus on getting better, okay little bro? Damn, you had me scared, man."

"Sorry." Sam said softly, staring at the older boy. "Dean."

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Are you okay? How … how are your legs?"

Dean grinned, "Fine as wine, Sammy. But you worry about you right now, okay? Hey, you hungry? You gotta be starving?"

Sam looked like he was thinking. "I think I might be. Mostly just really thirsty though. Maybe … think I could get a ginger ale?"

Dean nodded, his stupid grin growing ever bigger. "Sure thing. Don't go anywhere." He shot back as he flew out the door and smacked into the unyielding barrier that was John Winchester.

"Easy, son. What's wrong? Is it Sam?" The older man gripped him by both shoulders, worried.

Dean grinned, "It sure as hell is, Dad. And he's thirsty!"

John stared for a moment before a grin began to form across his face. He released Dean and slapped the door open, stepping inside.

"Sam? You awake, son?"

Sam made an effort to sit up straighter as he shot his father a warm smile. "Hi Dad."

John had to make a concerted effort not to cry as he swept forward and gathered his youngest up into a careful hug. "You had us scared, boy. Don't do that again, you hear me?"

Sam sniffled into his father's shoulder, relishing the rare display of affection. "I'll try not to, Dad." He promised as John broke the embrace. He gazed up at the older man in frank adoration.

John noticed, "Sam? Can you … can you see me?"

Sam nodded.

"Sam …" John was too choked up to say more. Luckily, Dean was back with a nurse and a small can of ginger ale.

"So our patient's awake!' the nurse said delightedly, stepping up to the bed to check vitals and to make a notation on Sam's chart. "How do you feel, Sam? You had us all pretty worried, you know." She winked.

"Feel okay." He said softly, gratefully taking a sip from the can that Dean held carefully before him. "I can even see okay."

She paused. "You can see? Clearly?"

"It's a little blurry, is all, like maybe I need glasses."

She smiled and placed her hand over his. "That's terrific news, Sam! I'll go tell your doctors, okay? How about your head? Headache at all? Any chest pain?"

Sam practically saw Dean's ears perk upright at the questions, and he chuckled softly, "No, I'm good. Feel the best I've felt in a while." He turned to his brother. "No lava." He said, knowing Dean would understand.

And the older boy did. His grin was bigger than the room as the nurse departed.

"Come here, you little bitch." Dean snorted, and leaned in to wrap Sam in an embrace. "I'm so glad you're feeling better, Sammy. Damn, I missed you, kid."

Sam wrapped spaghetti arms around his brother and held on like he never wanted to let go. He rested his head on Dean's shoulder and tried to smother an errant sob.

Dean rubbed gentle circles on his back. "It's okay, man. You can cry if you need to, Sammy. You've earned it."

And maybe, had they been alone, Sam would have indulged himself - if only for a moment or two. But they weren't alone. John Winchester was in the room, and that meant sucking it up and being tough. He pulled away, swiping at his eyes.

"I'm okay, jerk. Where's that soda again?"

Dean grinned, and held the can carefully up, positioning the straw so Sam didn't have to."

Sam sipped then leaned back to rest. Even that small of a movement depleted him. "So, what happened to me? Am I going to be okay? Is it … is it cancer … or something?" His eyes watered as he bit his lower lip and waited for the answer.

Dean gasped. "Oh, hell no, Sam! Don't say shit like that! It's not cancer, okay?"

"Well, what then?"

John placed a comforting hand on his youngest's shoulder. "You're going to be fine, Sam. I promise. What was happening to you … well, it isn't happening anymore."

But Sam refused to be humored.

"But what was it? I mean, do I have to worry about it happening again?"

John and Dean exchanged looks. "No, Sammy. No way. It's never gonna happen again. I won't let it." Dean reassured him.

Sam looked from one to the other. "You're not telling me everything." He said accusingly, sounding lost. "Why not? You don't think I deserve to know? Is it a big secret?"

John looked away and moved toward the window, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. "Sam, just let it go, please? Just … don' t push. Not now, okay?"

Sam sat back, frowning. Tears came instantly to his eyes and he looked down to try and shield them from his brother's intense scrutiny. "Fine. Whatever. I'd like to rest now" He said, dejectedly, turning away from them both and curling into a tight ball in the hospital bed.

Dean watched his little brother's mood plummet. "Sammy …" He moved forward and tried to catch Sam's hand, but Sam flinched away. "I'm … I'm tired, Dean. Please?"

"Okay, Sammy. If you're tired." he ran a hand over his face. "Get some rest, kiddo. I'll … uh … I'll be right here if you need anything, okay?"

Sam nodded, not responding.


	39. Evil

"That's $50 you owe me." Sam grinned, slapping his cards down on the bed tray. "I know you're letting me win, jerk."

Dean shrugged, ruffling his brother's hair. "Hey, everyone can have an off day, right? Even your perfect big brother."

Sam laughed outright, his eyes bright, cheeks full of color, and Dean could have spent the entire rest of the day just looking at him.

His kid brother was happy. He was alive and talking and laughing with no debilitating headaches, no limp when he made his way to and from the bathroom, and no fear hiding in his eyes. He'd be released around the end of the week if he kept on with his recovery. Even his doctors were impressed with how well Sam was coming back from near-death. He still didn't know that he'd been poisoned by Leslie, and Dean and John had no plans to tell him until she was safely in custody. Worry was something Sam didn't need right now, and they would do their damnedest to protect him.

Until then, Dean or Sam or Bobby was with Sam constantly - never letting him out of their sight. None of the hunters were convinced that Leslie was finished with her vile plan to remove him from the picture, and none were willing to take any more chances.

So it was poker and rummy in the mornings and Monopoly and Parcheesi in the afternoon. At night, Sam and Dean kicked up their feet and watched action movies that Dean rented at the local video store and played in the machine that Bobby had brought with him.

It was some of the best times Dean could ever remember having - just him and Sam - chilling together, no hunts, no weapons training, no tension between the youngest and oldest Winchester. John was so glad to see his son back from the veil that he seemed to going out of his way to tread lightly around him.

And Sam was thriving. Although he complained about being cooped up, he was never really bored - not with three people who were determined to keep him entertained. He looked forward to returning home though to the little dog that he missed with all his heart.

Aside from this though - times were good. Right up until the morning that Dean arrived at the hospital to relieve Bobby and was stopped by the police officer posted outside his brother's door. The man refused to let him pass until he saw some ID, and Dean had left his wallet behind in Sam's room the night before. When the inevitable rumpus began, Bobby stuck his head out the door and handed Dean his wallet, vouching for the boy. When Dean breezed past the cop, he was greeted inside Sam's room by Bobby and his father and what looked to be half of the Anaheim police force.

Dean headed straight to his brother's bedside, taking in the boy's pale face and terrified eyes. He slipped right up onto the bed beside the frightened kid and parked himself there stubbornly, twining the fingers of their right and left hands together.

"What's going on? What happened?" He demanded, addressing his father.

But it was Sam who spoke. "She … she's still … she still wants me gone, Dean." He whimpered. And Dean vowed then and there that if he ever saw the bitch again, it would be the last damned time she ever threatened his baby brother.

"What happened?" Dean's voice addressed everyone in the room but Sam, his voice deadly.

John's eyes met his briefly then skittered away, and Dean recognized guilt there. Finally, it was one of the police officers who spoke up.

"Leslie Benigan attempted to put a contract out on the boy." He explained, matter-of-fact.

Dean's eyes widened, his face going red. "What did you say?"

Bobby clarified. "She tried to hire someone to break into the hospital here and attack Sam. It was just dumb luck that the guy she approached was an undercover vice officer."

"Attack Sam how?" Dean asked through gritted teeth, but none of the men would meet his eyes, and it was finally Sam who answered softly. "Acid."

"What?" Dean looked down at his little brother who was looking younger and more terrified by the minute.

"She wanted him to throw acid on me. On my … my face." A tear escaped and ran down his cheek. "She was going to pay him … Dean. She was going to … to pay him to do that. What … what did I ever do to her? How could she h-hate me like that?"

Dean stared. He stared at his brother's face, an image coming unbidden to mind of Sam on the floor of the hospital room, writhing in agony, his flesh melting from …" He stood up, feeling sick. He couldn't speak, couldn't even begin to fathom the depth of the woman's evil. He turned to John.

"Dad." He said, and gagged helplessly. His arms clutched his stomach that suddenly wanted to release everything he had just eaten. He gagged again.

John crossed the room in big strides. Pulling Dean to him, he hugged him close. "I know, son." He said, eyes closing. "I know. It's okay. They stopped her. Nothing's going to happen to Sam."

"Sam will have a guard posted outside his door 24/7 until she's located, son." Bobby offered, sympathetically. He understood exactly how the boy felt. His own stomach wasn't feeling any too settled at the moment either.

"What the fuck is wrong with her?" Dean whispered. "Who could … to a kid? Who could do something like that?"

"What I want to know is why she's still running around free?" John demanded, eyeing the police officers accusingly. "Your vice guy had her. How'd she slip through his hands?"

"He wasn't expecting a concealed weapon. He underestimated her. Thought she was a housewife who was going to ask him to hit her husband. As soon as he heard the target was a thirteen-year-old kid, and that she wanted an acid attack, he panicked. Kid's new. Just a rookie really. He tried to arrest her before backup was in the area. She stabbed him. He's upstairs in critical care. It's touch and go for him." the ranking officer shared. He shook his head grimly. "We'll get her, Mr. Winchester. It's personal now -not only because of Officer Whitmore, but because she ordered such a sadistic hit on a child."

"So she doesn't want me dead?" Sam asked, turning pain-filled eyes on the officer. "Just … maimed?"

The officer looked away, swiping at his eye before turning back to face the demented woman's innocent target. "No, Sam, an attack like she ordered … well … no one could survive it."

Dean exploded then. Pulling away from his father, he picked up Sam's tray table and bashed it into the wall. "I"ll fucking kill the bitch myself!" he snarled, "Do you hear me? You can fucking lock me up and throw away the fucking key, but I swear, I'll kill her. She's a fucking dead woman walking now."


	40. Captured

Dean studied his brother. The younger boy was a mass of nerves. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed to his shoes, waiting to be released.

He was being discharged this morning, and Dean wanted to strangle that bitch all over again because what should have been a happy moment in time now felt like a fucking death march.

Sam was terrified to step outside the door, to leave the safe confines of the hospital. He hadn't uttered a word, but Dean could read his little brother better than any book. Sam spooked at every loud noise, every shadow. His eyes constantly roamed the perimeters of the room, shooting to the window several times every hour like clockwork. Getting him all the way down to the parking lot, to the car, without inducing a panic attack was going to be a feat of magic.

And then the long drive to Bobby's. Home didn't feel safe anymore, and John had paid up the last month's rent and moved them out while Sam recovered.

Dean would never admit it, but he was just as wary. Nobody knew when or where the bitch would pop up next and whether she'd be holding a long-range weapon or a bottle of battery acid. They didn't even know who the attacker might be. There was no way to anticipate who posed a threat and who didn't. Both boys wore Kevlar vests as a precaution, and the older boy wished he could suddenly sprout eyes in the back of his head because he was sure he was going to need them, and soon.

It was just a feeling.

Whatever was going to happen, it was going down today.

Dean could feel it, was almost sick with it. And he was pretty damn sure that Sam felt it too. But he was interrupted in his study by John poking his head into the room and encompassing them both in a fake, relaxed smile.

"You boys ready?"

Dean nodded, glancing to Sam as the boy stood on shaky legs. He was pale and visibly shaking, but he pasted a smile on his face anyway and nodded. "It'll be good to get to Bobby's." was all he said, putting on a brave front.

Dean said nothing, just moved to take his place behind his brother, offering him a nervous smile, as they stepped outside to join their father. As they moved through the hospital corridor, they were joined on either side by Deacon and Jody until the unit formed a diamond shape with Sam safely in the middle. The assigned officer took the lead.

Dean smiled, "The mystery errand?" He asked, gesturing toward the unexpected appearance of the two old friends. John smiled back, "Reinforcements never hurt. Bobby's waiting in the van."

The group paused outside the entrance as it stepped out into the blinding light of day. All eyes trained on nearby rooftops and approaching pedestrians.

"Looks clear," The assigned officer noted, giving the okay, and the small group crossed the street and entered the parking lot.

They had the van in sight when the first bullet whizzed past in front of Deacon and Sam and caught Jody in the left shoulder. The second bullet downed Deacon with a shot to the right knee, leaving Sam open and exposed. But the assigned officer moved fast, and tackled the boy to the ground just as the third pop sounded. Sam felt the jolt as the bullet hit his human shield dead on, and he was left gazing up into the surprised eyes of the young officer who'd given his life so that Sam might live.

Sam began to scream then, more in fear for those around him than for himself. He pushed the man's lifeless body off him, rolled to his feet and took off on a stumbling run - away from his brother, away from his father and friends - his only thought to draw the fire upon himself and to spare those he cared about. He heard feet pounding the asphalt behind him and knew without looking that it was Dean. It took everything his abused body had to stay ahead of the older boy, but he managed it.

He managed it until he turned the corner at the end of the block. That's when the butt of the rifle caught him full in the chest, downing him cruelly. Sam landed, unable to breathe, half leaning against the side of the brick building, long legs sprawled gracelessly in front of him.

And it was Sam's legs that Dean encountered as he turned the same corner, only four steps behind his brother. He tripped, his momentum carrying him over top of Sam and landing him hard on his chest on the ground - the wind knocked out of him. Dean managed to roll over as the butt of the rifle descended. He had one quick glimpse of Sam, up against the building and helpless -eyes wide and terrified - before the weapon came down, sending him into darkness.


	41. Look Away

This wasn't going to happen. No way was Dean letting this happen. The older boy fought against the darkness that enveloped him, and when he was sure he was going to succumb, he pictured his little brother suffering yet again at the hands of this sadistic bitch, and it gave him the strength he needed to force his eyes open.

Leslie stood with her back to him, discounting him, as she taunted his brother cruelly. It was clear, just from the limited view that Dean had of her, that the woman was completely mad. Filthy clothes hung from her emaciated frame, giving Dean the brief impression of a demented scarecrow. Her red hair fell in matted clumps from its crown, her once-bright and shiny tresses now reduced to a harried nest of chaos. Her feet were bare and bloodied as though they'd been that way for a long time.

Worse, in one dirty hand she cradled the long weapon she'd used to decimate their party. In the other, she gripped a forbidding vial of liquid.

She advanced on Sam.

And Dean could see the younger boy was helpless. He'd apparently taken a serious blow to his chest that even the Kevlar vest hadn't been strong enough to block efficiently. Sam lay stunned, half-propped against the wall of the brick building, struggling for breath and gazing up at his tormentor with watery eyes that looked terrified.

As Leslie closed in on Sam, a steady stream of profanity and filth spewed from her mouth.

"You thought you were safe?" She crowed, taunting Sam. "You thought I wouldn't find you, you pathetic fucking little whelp? John was MINE! MINE! Until you started whining about your stupid toe and your fucking forehead and your gimpy arm." She mocked him in a high, maniacal voice. "Oh Daddy! Help! Leslie HURT me! Oh, help, Daddy! I'm not a man! I'm an annoying fucking dog that needs run down in the fucking street!" She growled at him then, and it was a feral sound - eerily reminiscent of the things they'd once hunted.

Dean shifted silently behind her, blocking out her abusive words. He concentrated on climbing to his feet without making a noise, but there were two Leslies standing before him, and his eyes didn't seem capable of differentiating between them.

Trapped against the wall, Sam saw Dean's advance, but he didn't acknowledge him in any way, instead, keeping his eyes trained on the crazy woman before him.

And she was crazy. There was no doubt about that. Whatever had happened to Leslie since the last time Sam had seen her had removed any last semblance of sanity. The … thing … that stood before him now was devoid of thought, incapable of regret.

And it was probably the most horrifying thing Sam had ever seen. He knew she meant to kill him - probably in a dreadful way and in front of his brother. And Sam willed his body to shake off the shock of impact and to just fucking start working again.

She dropped the weapon to the ground with a clatter, cackling obscenely. She fell to her knees in front of Sam, uncapping the vial that smoked when it made contact with the air.

"Guess what this is, you whiny little shit. Do you know? Did they tell you? Do you realize you're about to finally die like the fucking coward you are? You should have stayed at that lock-up, kid. Nick stayed there. Why didn't you? So fucking inconvenient you are." She giggled, and the sound sent razor blades down Sam's spine.

"Leslie …" He spoke in gasps, "Leslie, please ... Whatever's … happened to you, we can ... help. Dad will help you. He … won't just leave ... you like this. Please. Don't ... do this." Sam struggled to raise a hand, to push the insane vision away from him, but his arms simply wouldn't work.

She screeched then, like an inhuman thing. The sound was unholy, demented. She moved the smoking vial to Sam's face. "I was going to just toss it on you, you little bastard. I wanted to watch you melt. But now I think I'd rather watch your face as you drink it all down. What do you think of that, bitch? Wanna drink all the tasty acid down for Aunty Leslie?"

Behind her, Dean wavered. He thought he saw the vial nearing Sam's face, but his vision was still less than reliable. He heard the words though - both the cruel, insane ones that the creature unleashed upon his brother and Sam's softly spoken ones that offered help to this woman even as she made a final move to kill him in a horrendous way.

And it was Sam's refusal to give up hope that finally gave him the courage to act. He reached forward as Leslie placed the vial almost to Sam's lips, and he wrapped his fingers in her filthy hair.

He yanked with everything he had left in him.

Leslie fell backward, the vial tilting toward her. Dean reached out, unthinkingly, and grabbed it before it could spill its deadly contents onto her skin. He stood holding it as the insane woman collapsed onto the ground in front of him, rolling up into a fetal position and laughing hysterically.

Dean saw red. "You like torturing people with battery acid, you bitch? Hmmm?" He snarled, crouching down beside her and holding the bottle over her face. "You wanna see somebody sizzle, you white-hot whore? How about we start with you, hunh?"

Leslie looked up at him, and her maniacal laughter halted momentarily as she looked from the smoking vial to Dean's furious face. Then she began giggling again, and it quickly escalated to all-out hysteria.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he tilted the bottle.

"Dean. Don't."

The words were spoken so softly that Dean couldn't help but hear them. He hesitated, glancing over at his brother. The boy still hadn't moved, but his eyes were trained on Dean, and they pleaded with him to stop.

"Dean. She's insane. She's been punished enough. Please. Please don't do it."

"Why not?' Dean's voice shook, "She was going to do it to you? She was going to make you drink it, Sam. She would have. I know she would have."

"I know. But that doesn't make it right, you hurting her back. She can't help it, Dean. Look at her."

Dean looked. He glanced back at Sam, eyes watering. "Sammy, close your eyes." he begged.

But Sam wouldn't. "No." he said quietly. "If you do it, Dean. I'm watching. You'll have to carry that image with you for the rest of your life, and I won't let you carry it alone. If you see it. I see it too."

Dean's eyes closed. He swallowed. His mind conjured up images of Sam covered in urine and bruises, limping painfully to the tray return. He saw the look in the old pervert's eyes as he stared at Sam, and he felt the shiver that had run through his little brother's body at the realization of what the man wanted. He saw Sam blind and helpless, withdrawing from life, pulling farther and farther into a chair as his mind slowly left him. Worst of all, he saw his own hands measuring contaminated ingredients into a glass and feeding it to his brother - to his innocent baby brother who would never hurt a living thing - not even this creature that rolled around on the ground in front of them - not even when she would hurt him without hesitation.

Dean had never wanted someone to suffer so much in his entire life.

"Please, Sammy. Look away."

"No Dean. I won't let you bear something like this alone. I can't."

Dean stared back down at the deranged woman before him. White foam dripped from her mouth and her eyes rolled unseeing inside their sockets. She made sounds that he knew would haunt him the rest of his days, and he stood up, stepping back. He searched the ground until he found the bottle stopper, and then he replaced it carefully. He placed the vial gently on the ground against the side of the building and retrieved Leslie's weapon.

He slid down the wall beside his brother and waited for help to arrive.

He felt a hand take his own, fingers sliding home.

'"I think I'm gonna hurl." Sam said.

And when Dean's laughter got started, there was no shutting it down.


	42. Adopted

Sam smiled as the unfamiliar car pulled into Bobby's front yard and motored to a stop just feet from where he sat on the porch steps waiting.

"Dad, Bobby, he's here." Sam heard Dean mention from the screen door. He heard the door open behind him as the older boy stepped outside.

Sam stood as Ben slid out from behind the wheel and ambled forward, still dressed in suit pants, a dress shirt and tie. The redhead was smiling too as he stuck out his hand to grasp Sam's in a firm shake.

"Sam!" He grinned, "You're looking a hell of a lot better than you did the last time I saw you, man."

Sam chuckled, "Yeah, you too. Glad you made it."

Ben nodded as his gaze traveled upward to Dean. He shot a cautious smile in the older boy's general direction. After a moment, Dean smiled back. "Got a haircut, I see." Noting the boy's short, stylish cut that looked like it required quite a bit of hair gel.

Ben grinned, stepping up to catch Dean's hand in a shake. "Yeah, well, you know, gotta fit into society, right?"

Dean took the offered hand in a firm grip, grinning. "Eh, Fitting in is overrated."

Ben shrugged, looking to John. "Sir." He greeted, not sure what to do with his hands.

But John took a few steps forward and reached down, offering his own hand for a shake. "Ben. It's good to meet you, son. I hear you tried looking out for my youngest in that hellhole. We owe you our thanks."

Ben was taken aback. It took him a moment to compose himself. He cleared his throat. "There, uh, wasn't a lot we could do in there. Not much hope, you know." He said, voice emotionless.

But John refused to let the boy discount what he'd done. "Still, you tried. You're a good man, Ben."

Sam shifted as an awkward silence fell. "Wanna meet Shallie?" He asked.

Ben grinned, "Do I? Yes!"

"Come on," Sam said, leading the way to the room he still shared with Dean at the top of the stairs. The two boys passed Bobby along the way, and Ben shook his hand and accepted his offer to stay for dinner.

In the bedroom, the two boys were met with a frantic, wriggling ball of fur that launched itself at Sam as soon as the door opened. "I wanted to keep him here til after you got inside. He can be a little enthusiastic at times." Sam giggled as the little dog lapped at his face.

Ben grinned, ruffling the little dog's fur. "He's a lot more energetic than Shiloh ever was." The boy noted, as Shallie moved from assaulting Sam's face to attacking his own. "I bet he's a good guard dog."

"Well, he's a yappy guard dog." Sam admitted. "I'm not sure how intimidating he'd be. He'd probably just lick the guy to death."

Ben laughed, "Well, I guess if you have to go some way … that'd be the way."

"So you don't still have Shiloh?" Sam asked.

A cloud passed over Ben's face as he sat cross-legged on the floor, fending off Shallie's lively advances. "No … uh … you know … Mom."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh."

"I, uh, I talked back to her one night about something stupid, and she … uh … she poisoned him - life lesson and all that."

Sam blinked. "That's … that's horrible. I'm … I'm so sorry."

Ben shrugged, "It's over and done with. Can't undo it, right? I'm done letting her ruin my life. I'm free now. I can do anything I want. Go anywhere I want. Get another dog if I want." Ben grew pensive. "I miss him though. We sort of grew up together."

Sam bit his lip, unsure of what to say. "I think you should get another dog. There's a shelter in town. We should go look!"

Ben looked up, "Yeah? You think?"

"Sure. I mean, do you have a place to stay and stuff?"

"Yeah, I'm … uh … passing through here. I have an aunt and uncle up north. They're gonna let me stay with them." He chuckled when he saw Sam's eyes widen in concern. "Don't worry, it's my dad's brother and his wife."

"Good." Sam expelled a relieved breath. "Will they let you, you think?"

"Don't know. I can call them, I guess. Maybe I will later."

Sam smiled, turning his attention back to Shallie who was now settling down comfortably in Ben's lap. "So, uh … I'm sorry … I guess. I mean about your mom. I mean ... degenerative brain disease." He looked up, hesitant, unsure of how to proceed.

But Ben only smiled. "Thanks, Sam. But it's okay if you call it what it was. She had syphilis. She had to know she was sick. She was too proud to get help. It was just a graveside service. Nobody there but me. It was kind of sad, really. I mean, she was this popular writer and all, but toward the end … I guess she just alienated everyone who knew her. I think maybe I would feel worse if she had ever been, you know, this caring person. She wasn't though - at least, not since I knew her. It was always ... always bad, you know? As far back as I can remember, it was bad. It's weird that she was originally from Sioux Falls though. She was buried, like, twenty minutes from here." He studied Sam. "I'm really sorry too. I mean, about all she put you and your family through. I feel like I'm sort of responsible in some way."

Sam shook his head. "You shouldn't. You were her victim too. Her original one. I can't imagine what it must have been like to spend three whole years at Medina."

Ben shuddered, unable to speak.

"If it helps at all, Deacon - Officer Kaylor - says they're shutting the place down at the end of the year. They're sending the adults to San Quentin and the kids to a real juvenile facility. There're already plans underway to convert it to a halfway house kind of thing."

Ben smiled, "That's good to hear, Sam. Thanks for telling me that. Deacon - he was one of the good ones. I'm sorry my crazy mom shot him in the knee. Officer Mills too. How are they doing? They okay?"

"Yeah. Deacon says he's got his pick of assignments now. He could go just about anywhere he wants in the whole nation. And Jody has a sheriff's gig lined up right here in Sioux Falls when she's better. Medina kind of boosted both of their careers. And it busted all the corrupt attendants. They won't be working with kids anymore."

Ben nodded. "Those other two officers, though. I feel so bad for their families. Officer Whitmore and Officer Turner. They didn't deserve that."

Sam's eyes watered. "They both died trying to protect me. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them."

"It wasn't your fault, Sam. It was Leslie's. She's the only one to blame. If I have to keep telling myself that, you do too, right?"

"Yeah, you do, bitch." Dean interjected from the doorway. He plopped carefully down beside the two boys and smiled when Shallie took the opportunity to realign his loyalties. The dog moved into Dean's lap and settled down with a contented sigh.

"He's such a traitor." Sam mourned.

"Nah, he's just got good taste." Dean chuckled, petting the dog gently. "So Ben." He started, glaring over at the boy.

Ben gulped, "Yeah?"

"I hope you like beef stew. Bobby has this thing he does with whiskey. It's fantastic, but you have to make sure you tell him so he'll save you a second helping."

"Love it." Ben laughed, relieved. "And even if I didn't, I think I'd be keeping quiet about it."

"Good answer." Dean agreed.

"There's homemade bread too." Sam piped up. "Bobby won't admit it, but he's been slaving down there all day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "I think he's trying to impress someone, and I'm pretty sure it's not me."

Ben looked confused, "Well, I'm pretty sure it's not me, so it must be you, Sam."

Sam shook his head, "Hunh uh. It's you. Dean and I told Dad and Bobby about how you tried to talk him out of bein' such a perv to me."

"Shut it, Sammy. I might have been a perv, but I was the best thing going at Medina." Dean pretended to be hurt.

Sam snickered, "That you were. Course, that's not sayin' a lot, you know."

Dean chucked a rolled up sock in his direction. "Yeah? Well, I'll remember that the next time you get yourself sent to reform school, bitch."

"Oh Dean, nobody calls it reform school anymore. What are you, eighty?" Sam kidded.

"Still young enough to kick your scrawny ass, dude."

Ben watched, amused. "You were kind of scary, Dean. And a hell of a convincing actor."

"Not convincing enough to fool you."

"Almost. If it hadn't been for that thing with Old Carl, I never would have guessed. Well, not for a while anyway. I felt real bad for Sam there for a bit."

Sam sighed. "I didn't. I was never so relieved to be manhandled by a dude in my life. When you pulled me back down and my tray went flying, I thought it was all over." He admitted, looking gratefully at Dean.

"Yeah, well, had to make it look convincing, Sammy. Sorry if I scared you."

"You didn't." Sam grinned, "Just don't ever try it again, jerk."

Dean took it as the challenge it was intended to be. "Awww?" He mourned, placing Shallie on Ben, and struggling to his feet. "You don't want O.G. anymore, baby? I'm hurt." He grinned, first stretching, then wincing when a wayward pain shot from the heel of his foot to his hip.

Sam was up in an instant. "Dean, you okay? You need the painkillers?"

Dean smiled, "Nah, I'm good, Sammy. Gonna wander back downstairs and see if Dad'll share that new six-pack."

"Hey, we might go into town later - look over the dogs in the shelter. You wanna come?"

Dean nodded. "Better wait til after dinner though, or Bobby will have a cow."

###

"So, the shelter's one block over." Sam guided Dean, encouragingly.

"How do you know this?" Dean asked. "It's been years since we've been here?"

"Well, geez, Dean. It's called a phone. You pick it up and dial a business and they tell you where they're located. Innovation, man." Sam snarked.

Dean glared over at the boy in the passenger seat. "Is it?" He asked, feigning interest. "Will that innovation get you back home when I kick your sarcastic ass out of my baby?"

Sam just grinned, pointing. "There."

When the boys stepped inside, Sam's eyes immediately went to the little dog who was on display in the window. He gasped. "Dean! It's Sequel!"

Dean frowned, "You mean the dog from the pet store? Why would she be here?"

A friendly woman stepped out from behind the counter and approached them smiling. That's Mia. She was turned over to us a few weeks ago. Her owner was suddenly transferred out of town and couldn't keep her anymore. She's a loving little dog."

Ben approached the fence that kept the little dog contained. She scurried right up to him and whined. "Can I touch her?" He asked.

She nodded, "Sure. She won't bite you."

Ben scratched the dog's neck, and she responded by licking his hand. He chuckled. "Sam, she looks exactly like Shallie."

Sam knelt down and stuck his hand inside the fence. "This is Shallie's sister. Aren't you, girl?"

"You can pick her up if you like. She loves being held." the lady said, seeing Ben's obvious infatuation.

Ben reached over and pulled the friendly canine into his arms. He smiled as the animal's tongue found his cheek. "I think she likes me."

"I think so." The woman smiled. "She's been here for two weeks. She's eligible for emergency adoption. You could take her home tonight if you wanted."

Ben grinned at Sam and Dean, his eyes lighting up. "I could take her home tonight."

They both grinned back. "I think you should." Sam said. "I think she needs you. And we were almost brothers. Now we could sort of be related for real, you know? Dog parents of siblings and all."

Ben's eyes filled. "Brothers." He said softly, burying his face in Mia's fur. "I used to dream about having brothers."

And later, after Ben had filled out the paperwork and paid the small fee, Dean didn't even complain when Ben carried Mia to the Impala and placed her on the backseat beside him.

And as the classic Chevy pulled away from the curb with the three boys inside perfectly silhouetted in the last golden light of day, the shelter owner had to smile. She had a really good feeling about this particular adoption.

\- THE END -

 _ **Author's Note:** Thanks, everyone, for hanging in til the end. I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. I appreciate all your kind reviews and suggestions and feedback more than you know :)_


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